The Kissing Bandit
by forthright
Summary: AU. An art thief with an unusual calling card is after a set of priceless statues. The Taishos take steps to protect the Four Souls, but the cat burglar is elusive. When Sango steps forward as a witness, she’s asked to help catch the ‘Casanova' crook.
1. The Master Thief

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one with an unusual calling card. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Note of Explanation:** September heralds my second anniversary as a fandom writer, and this story my way of celebrating that milestone. _The Kissing Bandit_ was written to coincide with the prompts of the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Chapters are quite short, but updates will be daily. I had fun with this… and hope you will, too.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With abundant thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken, who's been cheering me on since the beginning.

* * *

**Chapter 1  
****The Master Thief**

**Beautiful Woman Falls Prey to Kissing Bandit!  
**_For nearly six months, rumors and speculation have run rampant in the art world, with everyone wondering when and where the mysterious thief known only as the 'Kissing Bandit' would strike again. Today, human and youkai art collectors alike have their answer, for the infamous burglar has made his next conquest. The latest victims are Sesshoumaru Taisho, president of Mokomoko Enterprises, and his brother and business partner, Inuyasha Taisho. Sources have revealed that a priceless jade carving by famed artisan Genko Osusuki was taken earlier this week. The statue, titled __Aramitama: Soul of Courage__, is one of a set of four…. _

"This is unacceptable," Sesshoumaru stated with chilling calm as he tossed the newspaper aside.

"Which part?" blandly asked his younger brother. "The press-leak thing? Or are we back to that whole no-one-takes-what's-mine thing?"

Ignoring the mild taunt, Sesshoumaru tapped the offending headline. "What have you found out?"

"Not much," Inuyasha admitted grumpily. "This bastard is good. The police don't have anything on him, and none of us could get so much as a whiff from the crime scene. The only one who _saw_ him was the girl he kissed, and she was too sparkly-eyed and giggly to be any use. I swear, this guy's one part Casanova and one part media whore. Keeping the heist out of the papers until now was about the only way to slow him down."

"Hnn."

"One thing's for sure… he's a collector," Inuyasha continued. "He won't stop until he has the full set, and bets are already being made over which statue he'll go after next."

"What measures have been taken?"

"I covered the basics—increased security, cooperation with authorities—which _ain't_ easy, I'll have you know. That Keisatsu character that's been assigned to the case is too damned cocky. Puts my teeth on edge."

Sesshoumaru's brow arched. "Is he incompetent?"

Inuyasha fidgeted before replying, "Nah, just irritating as hell. You'll see."

"I know you're capable of civility," Sesshoumaru remarked, though it came across more as an order. "Since the police don't have any leads, we could be _proactive_ and bring in a consultant. Surely that would be a diplomatic solution?"

The hanyou nodded slowly. "Yeah, okay. I'll make some calls."

"Also, notify the staff here to be watchful."

"Why's that?"

The tall youkai gestured casually towards a black case that stood on the credenza behind him. "Because as of today, one of the remaining three Souls is here."

Inuyasha's blank look morphed into a smirk. "You _are_ taking this personally."

"Hnn."

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #25, Diplomatic Solution. 426 words.


	2. The Receptionist

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one with undeniable charm. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**One week later…**_

**Chapter 2  
****The Receptionist**

Humming snatches of a jaunty tune under his breath, Miroku kept his eyes trained on the flicker of lighted numbers that marked his descent. When the elevator car slowed to a stop on the tenth floor, he stepped back to make room for more passengers, relaxing into an unassuming slouch. The two businessmen who boarded glanced his way and received an absentminded smile for their moment's notice before resuming their conversation. "I say go for it. It's the only way you'll find out," advised the first man.

"Seems too forward," frowned the second, younger man.

"Look, she doesn't wear a ring. It can't hurt to ask."

"Easy for you to say; you've already got a girl."

The first man grinned in satisfaction. "Which _proves_ I know what I'm talking about."

His friend seemed unconvinced. "I don't know. I hear she's pretty close to Mr. Taisho."

"Oh? Which one?"

"Inuyasha, of course, though I thought he was engaged."

"Well, if he's interested in the receptionist, you're not just out of your league, you're out of luck," opined the friend.

"First you tell me to go for it, now you tell me it's hopeless," grumbled the second man.

"Let's face it, she's strong, beautiful, and she has a couple of inches on you. If she's close to one of the Taishos as well, she's basically untouchable."

A subdued _ping_ announced their arrival on the ground floor, and the businessmen headed towards the entrance. Miroku followed much more slowly, his curiosity piqued. _An untouchable beauty, hmm? _

The reception lobby of Mokomoko Enterprises' corporate offices was a coolly understated expanse of stone and glass. Miroku scanned his surroundings with renewed appreciation; they whispered 'power' and 'money', but spoke most clearly of Sesshoumaru Taisho's love for beauty and harmony. The circular space, all in blacks and deepening shades of grey, pulled the eye towards its center, where a substantial stone table bore the only splash of color—an _ikebana_ arrangement with a single, arching spray of golden forsythia.

Soft tones, like gentle wind chimes, drew his attention towards the receptionist's desk, which he knew doubled as the building's switchboard. _This must be the domain of the fair lady who toys with the hearts of men. _Straightening his tie, Miroku strode confidently across the lobby, only to hesitate as the woman's chair swiveled so that he could see her face. _Ouch._ Covering his involuntary grimace, he changed course and chose a seat, making a show of checking his watch before picking up a magazine. _Definitely not what I was expecting._ The plain-faced woman behind the desk was well past her expiration date and not the sort to inspire wishful thinking. Before he could question the young businessman's sanity further, the sharp tap of heels heralded the arrival of someone new. _Ah! That's more like it. __Much__ better._

A woman in a tailored, charcoal-grey business suit approached, and Miroku smiled behind the glossy pages of his magazine as he admired the sway of her hips. _Exquisite._ She pushed long, dark hair back to slip a headset into place and resume her duties, and it didn't take long for Miroku to see why Taisho had chosen her to be everyone's first impression of his company. She was poised and spoke in well-modulated tones—always calm, always courteous, always in control. _Captivating_. It was no wonder the poor schmuck in the elevator found her intimidating, and he could see why the other had labeled her 'untouchable'. However, as far as he was concerned, she was _neither_ of those things.

After several minutes of unobtrusive ogling, Miroku laid aside his magazine and stood, then strolled towards her desk. The nameplate on the corner read _'Sango Sakamoto'_, and he filed that tidbit away for future reference. When he paused and caught her eye, she raised a hand, signaling for him to wait until she completed a connection, and once she had, she stood and inclined her head. "Welcome, sir. Are you here to see someone?" she inquired with a polite, customer-service smile.

Miroku shook his head, saying, "I'm actually on my way out."

Intelligent brown eyes whisked to the lapels of his suit coat, then regarded him carefully. "Are you here to return your guest pass, then?"

_Damn. Protocol._ He batted a hand ineffectually over his pockets, then offered her an apologetic grin. "I seem to have mislaid it. How distressing. I do apologize."

"Who did you say you were here to see?" she asked sweetly, reaching for the guest book laying on the raised partition surrounding her desk.

"Actually, I _didn't_ say," Miroku replied, casually propping his elbow on the book in question. Sango held onto her professional manner, but her eyes flashed dangerously, which pleased him enormously.

"I think you'd better give me your name, sir," she ordered crisply.

He shook his head. "_That_ would be telling; however, I _do_ have something for you."

"And what might that be, sir?" she demanded, radiating boredom in spite of his antics.

Darting a cautious glance around the otherwise empty lobby, he crooked a finger for her to come closer. To Miroku's complete delight, she didn't back down when he leaned in. _Irresistible_. Quick as a wink he brought up his free hand to cup her cheek and covered her lips with his own. She froze, which was most helpful, as it gave him the extra seconds to gentle his touch and kiss her thoroughly. When he pulled back, she blinked once, slowly. "Thank you, Sango," he murmured, as he released her and backed away. "Goodbye, then," he cheerfully added as he adjusted his grip on the black case he carried and calmly strolled out the front door.

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #22, Stolen. 946 words.


	3. The Paper

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one with dimples. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**The next morning…**_

**Chapter 3  
****The Paper**

_I can't __believe__ I let him do that_, Sango fumed as she slammed a cupboard door and reached for the kettle. _He seemed harmless, and I let my guard down._ She gave the tap an angry twist. _The __nerve__ of that guy! I should have slapped him. No, I should have punched him._ Dropping the filled kettle onto a burner with a noisy clatter, she snapped the dial to 'high'._ Better yet, I should have kicked him in the…_

"…so I told the toad he could be my prince, and we're eloping next week. You don't mind, do you?"

Sango's mental tirade came to a screeching halt, and she turned to stare at her roommate. "_What_ did you say?"

Rin laughed and shook her head. "You haven't heard a word I've said for the last five minutes."

"I… well, no."

Dimpling, Rin gestured Sango to join her at their tiny kitchen table. "Glaring at the kettle won't make it boil any faster… or make you feel any better. What's got you so worked up?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I had to deal with a real idiot at work yesterday, and just thinking about it makes me mad."

"On your first day back, too," Rin sympathized. "How _was_ your trip, anyhow? I meant to ask, but that snapshot you emailed me yesterday was divine inspiration. The florist your company hires is a genius."

Sango was used to Rin's haywire lifestyle. Her flamboyant roommate was an artist prone to fits of creative ecstasy, especially where flowers were concerned. "It was a nice week. We took in all the sights, and Kohaku seemed to fit in just fine with the other boarders. In fact, by the last day, I think he was anxious to get rid of me."

The other young woman nodded wisely. "You can hardly blame him. Most boys don't like being fussed over by their big sisters, especially in front of the other boys."

"I suppose," sighed Sango. The kettle finally whistled, and she moved back to the kitchen to make her tea. "It's a really good school. I should thank Mr. Taisho again for his recommendation…"

"Oh my gosh!" interrupted Rin, making a dive for the morning paper. "That's what I was trying to ask you when you were spacing out earlier! Look at this!" she demanded, pointing to the headline. Big, bold letters declared, _'Second Statue Goes Missing!'_ Her brown eyes sparkled with excitement as she smoothed the newsprint. "That famous art thief struck again!"

"_What_ famous art thief?" Sango asked blankly. "Wait… is _your_ stuff in danger?"

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Rin retorted. "This guy only steals the best of the best."

Sango reclaimed her seat, tea in hand. "Don't sell yourself short. Your paintings are in galleries."

Rolling her eyes, Rin shook the paper for emphasis. "Sango, we're talking about the Kissing Bandit!"

"Who?"

"He's been in the headlines _all week_!"

"I've been on vacation all week," Sango calmly replied.

"Well, the short story is that he's an international art thief," Rin explained. "The authorities have been chasing him all over the world for years now, but they can't seem to catch him. Even when the police have some idea of what he's planning to steal, he outsmarts everyone."

"What's with the corny nickname?"

"Ooooh! That's the most exciting part," Rin gushed. "It's like his calling card. They call him the Kissing Bandit because whenever he steals something, he always kisses a woman before he leaves the building. Isn't that just… so _romantic_?"

Sango snorted. "I would hardly call stealing kisses 'romantic'."

Her roommate ignored the aside. "He's started a new collection—it's statues this time. Apparently, he took the second one already, and according to this, _Kushimitama: Soul of Wisdom_ belongs to your Mr. Sesshoumaru Taisho."

"Oh, my," frowned Sango. "That's terrible! Mr. Taisho has so many lovely pieces on display at his various holdings. Which estate was burgled? Or was it one of the galleries?"

"That's just _it_!" Rin exclaimed, practically bouncing. "It says here that this statue was stolen from Mokomoko Enterprises' corporate headquarters. Isn't that the building where you work?"

Sango paled. _Oh… no, no, no, no._

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #17, Newspaper/History Book. 697 words.


	4. The Witness

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one who's understandably furious. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**Later that morning…**_

**Chapter 4  
****The Witness**

"Damn it all, Taisho! What was that statue doing _here_?"

Sesshoumaru calmly shifted his gaze from his correspondence to the furious blue eyes of the youkai that had just barged through his door. Unperturbed, he glanced over the wolf's rumpled suit and looked pointedly at the fists planted on his desk. "And who might you be?"

Inuyasha charged into the office behind the surly intruder with two other youkai in tow. "_That's_ Keisatsu. He's the one who's been chasing his own tail for the last few years, trying to catch our thief. I think you've pissed him off."

Stepping back with a low growl, the investigator nodded curtly. "I apologize for my rudeness, sir. My name is Kouga Keisatsu; my men and I have been assigned to your case. This is Ginta, and this is Hakkaku." The other agents each bowed in turn.

"I see." Sesshoumaru laid aside his papers and folded his hands on his desk. "To what do I owe the 'pleasure' of our acquaintance?"

Disbelief flickered across Kouga's expressive features. "If that's how you want to play it, fine. Tell me, Mr. Taisho, how is it possible that the _Kushimitama_ statue—which I've had under close guard at the Dokkaso Gallery for the last few days—was stolen from this very room?"

"I brought it here for safekeeping," Sesshoumaru replied coolly.

Kouga wearily scrubbed a hand over his face. "Well _that_ worked out well, didn't it?" he muttered waspishly, while Sesshoumaru cut a warning glance at his brother, who was snickering behind his hand. "Listen, Mr. Taisho," the agent continued, "my department is sick of the Kissing Bandit making us look like idiots, and your little stunt just cost us another opportunity to pin him down. We can't have you taking matters into your own hands. Understood?"

"Of course," Sesshoumaru agreed.

"Fine. Let's just make sure we're on the same page here. Are the other two statues I'm responsible for still where they belong?"

"They are."

"What about yesterday, then? How did our guy get past you?"

"I was out," Sesshoumaru supplied.

"And you left a priceless statue lying around?"

"Hnn."

The agent who'd been introduced as Ginta gently cleared his throat, and Kouga gestured for him to speak up. "Mr. Taisho, who knew the statue had been moved? _We_ were not informed, but obviously word reached the thief."

Inuyasha raised a hand. "Everyone in the building received a memo the day after it arrived here, telling them to keep an eye out for suspicious persons."

Kouga swore under his breath. "This place has security cameras, right?"

"Sure," Inuyasha replied with the barest of smirks. "Funny thing, though. Shortly before noon yesterday, there was a glitch in the system, and the cameras cut out for roughly three hours. By the time our technicians figured out what was wrong and got them back online, it was too late."

"You didn't find that suspicious?" Hakkaku asked incredulously.

Inuyasha just shrugged. "I wasn't here either; same meeting as him," he explained, gesturing to his brother.

"Well, that's just dandy," groused Kouga. "That leaves us with just one possible lead. Where's our girl?"

There was a lengthy pause. "What girl?" Sesshoumaru inquired.

"If this was our guy, then there's always a girl. Who was kissed?" Kouga demanded.

Sesshoumaru and Inuyasha exchanged glances. "No one has come forward," Inuyasha admitted slowly.

Just then, there was a soft chime from the phone on the corner of Sesshoumaru's desk. "Sir? I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's someone here to see you. She says it's urgent."

"Who is it, Jaken?"

"It's Miss Sakamoto, sir."

Inuyasha straightened, his ears pricking forward. "Sango?"

"Send Miss Sakamoto in, Jaken," ordered Sesshoumaru.

A moment later, the door opened to admit the building's attractive receptionist. "I'm sorry to intrude," Sango said in a low voice, bowing politely to the roomful of males. After introductions were made, she accepted Inuyasha's offer of a seat with a faint smile. With the courtesies out of the way, she addressed Sesshoumaru, "Sir, I need to speak to you about yesterday's theft." Her cheeks tinged with color as she continued, "I spoke to a man yesterday at the reception desk. He didn't have a guest pass, and he wouldn't tell me his name."

Kouga, who'd begun pacing restlessly in the background, fixed the young woman with a piercing look. "Did he kiss you?"

"Yes, sir. Before I could stop him, he _did_ kiss me. I'm sorry."

In a second, Kouga was kneeling beside her. "No, don't apologize. Do you remember his face? Would you recognize him again?"

"Yes, sir," Sango replied evenly, though a flash of anger sharpened her gaze.

"Thank goodness the wretch's taste in women has improved," Kouga said with a wolfish grin.

"Excuse me?" the receptionist gasped, glancing uncertainly towards Inuyasha.

Kouga stood and resumed his pacing. "Up until now, our 'witnesses' have not been terribly helpful. All I have are vague descriptions—tall, well-dressed, handsome, suave. Didn't the last girl call him 'dreamy'?" he demanded of Ginta, who nodded morosely. "But _you_," he resumed, rounding on Sango, "you seem like a sensible girl. With your help, we might just be able to set a trap for our thief."

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #28, Keeping Track. 867 words.


	5. The Expert

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the discriminating collector. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**A few days later… **_

**Chapter 5  
****The Expert**

"I must say, this Kissing Bandit is a discriminating collector; the 'Four Souls' are rare beauties."

Inuyasha glanced skeptically over the top of the glass display case at the consultant they'd brought in, but Sesshoumaru nodded. "It is a perverse honor to be targeted," he acknowledged. Like the other three statues that comprised the original set, _Nigimitama: Soul of Friendship_ depicted a lovely woman; its owner's golden eyes softened slightly as he studied her upturned face and open arms.

"Your 'ladies' may have come to his attention during his last string of burglaries. Nearly two years ago, he took a fancy to the craftsmanship of the youkai smith, Toutousai. You each possess one of his swords, isn't that right?"

"Yeah," Inuyasha replied. "They were gifts from our father—family heirlooms."

"I'd love to see them sometime, if I may? Toutousai himself called Tetsusaiga and Tenseiga his masterworks."

"That can be arranged, Mr. Murasaki," acquiesced Sesshoumaru.

"Hang on," interjected Inuyasha. "If we have the best swords this old smith ever made, why didn't the Bandit try for them?"

"Fortunately for you, our light-fingered art snitch only went after Toutousai's _daggers_; there were seven all together. It took him fifteen months to extract them from the various museums and private collections to which they belonged."

"I see. You believe our name came up during his research," surmised Sesshoumaru.

"That seems to be the case," Murasaki confirmed.

Inuyasha shifted impatiently. "This guy has guts to steal from youkai; do you think he's youkai, too?"

"Not necessarily," their consultant cautioned. "Though youkai—and hanyou—have certain advantages in crimes of this nature, don't forget that some humans are uniquely blessed with the skills and abilities to elude their demonic counterparts."

"Yeah, yeah," Inuyasha grudgingly admitted.

"Were you aware that a witness has come forward?" Sesshoumaru inquired quietly.

"It was in the paper," Murasaki replied lightly.

Inuyasha frowned darkly. "Sango's a good friend, and I don't like seeing her dragged into this mess. That idiot Keisatsu wants us to transfer her—probably here."

"They're hoping she can identify him?" Murasaki asked. The hanyou nodded, and the consultant shrugged. "She won't be at risk; let the police bait their trap. Who knows? Maybe they'll get lucky."

The brothers exchanged a long glance. "Not good enough," Inuyasha relayed. "She didn't say much, but Sango was pretty shook up."

"Miss Sakamoto's protection is our responsibility," added Sesshoumaru gravely. "To the police, she is merely the means to an end."

Murasaki rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then brightened. "How about one of my associates plays 'bodyguard' for the duration of the case?" he offered.

"I won't trust Sango to just _anyone_; not after what happened," Inuyasha warned.

"Have your man stop by my office tomorrow at nine to answer some questions," Sesshoumaru ordered. "If he is deemed suitable, I'll accept your offer."

"Fair enough," Murasaki said with a twinkle in his eyes. "My associate will be there at nine sharp. I'm sure _she'll_ put your mind at ease."

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #14, Means to an End. 498 words.


	6. The Promise

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one who feels responsible. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**The next morning…**_

**Chapter 6  
****The Promise**

The sun was just beginning to color the eastern horizon when Sango tucked her pass-key back in her purse and pushed through the glass doors of Mokomoko Enterprises. Though it might have seemed strange to anyone else, Sango found her workplace calming. Here, she was in control. Here, she felt confident. Here, she could rebuild her composure.

She'd barely crossed the threshold when she realized that she wasn't alone. On his knees before the stone table was Sesshoumaru Taisho, a slender calla lily poised between his fingertips. This wasn't the first time she'd encountered the company's president in the early morning quiet; he seemed to share her appreciation for the serene atmosphere of the reception area. Golden eyes regarded her for several moments before he returned to his work. "It's early," he remarked in a low voice.

"Yes, sir," Sango murmured, moving towards her desk. She doubted that anyone else in the building knew that the ever-changing floral display that served as the lobby's centerpiece was Sesshoumaru's handiwork. _I've certainly never spoken of it._ Mr. Taisho had hired her when her needs were many and her prospects few, and for that, Sango felt she owed him both her loyalty and her discretion.

"Your transfer takes place today," commented Sesshoumaru as he shortened a flower stem with a flick of his claws.

"That's right."

The silver-haired youkai tipped his head to one side, considering the _ikebana_ before him, but when he spoke, his words were for her. "You are nervous."

Sango smiled wanly. _There's no evading the acute senses of an inuyoukai._ "A little, yes."

Satisfied with the stark beauty of his new arrangement, Sesshoumaru rose gracefully and gathered his supplies. An unmarked door just behind her desk was his storeroom, and she could hear him moving about, replacing the various elements that had been part of last week's display. As he stepped out, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt, but he hesitated beside Sango. "Did he harm you?"

Startled, she looked up into Sesshoumaru's dispassionate face. "He stole a kiss, nothing more," she solemnly assured him.

Nodding once, the youkai crossed the floor to reclaim his suit coat. He shouldered into it, then flipped the length of his hair out over the collar. She expected him to move on towards the bank of elevators, but he approached her desk a second time. "I apologize," he said, earnestly meeting her eyes. "You should not have become involved."

"You don't need to apologize to me, sir," Sango demurred. "None of this was your fault."

Sesshoumaru's lips turned down in a minute frown, hinting at his displeasure. "I am indirectly responsible."

"I cannot blame you, sir," she argued in a reasonable tone.

"Hnn." Again, she thought he would withdraw, but he surprised her by lingering. When he finally spoke again, it was slowly, as if he was choosing his words with great care. "Inuyasha wishes for you to feel safe while you are away, so arrangements are being made. You will be protected, Miss Sakamoto."

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #22, Silence. 502 words.


	7. The Hotel

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one who can handle herself. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**Later that day…**_

**Chapter 7  
****The Hotel**

The Taisho brothers' holdings were extensive, and though Sango had never visited any of them, the various hotels, galleries, estates, and office buildings were listed in the informational binders beside her switchboard. She could rattle off the pertinent details for each, but as she entered the lobby of The Taiyoukai, she was awed by the sheer grandeur of her surroundings. This was a luxury hotel, right in the heart of the city, boasting several fine restaurants, a handful of ballrooms, and an entire floor given over to art and artifacts. Sesshoumaru's Watashi Gallery was generally considered the hub of the local art community.

"This is certainly… impressive," Sango murmured, opting for understatement.

"I guess," Inuyasha replied nonchalantly, ignoring all the elegant trappings as he guided her through the lunchtime crowds, a hand at her elbow. In spite of the fact that his very presence would draw attention to her, the hanyou had stubbornly insisted on driving Sango to her appointment with Keisatsu. "Don't let him push you around, okay? If that idiot inspector tries to talk you into _anything_ besides keeping an eye peeled for their 'master criminal', I want to know about it."

Sango's chin went up. "I can handle myself," she protested.

Inuyasha gave her a sidelong look, and his tone turned teasing as he replied, "I dunno. You were awfully polite and apologetic last time that wolf saw you—a really good impersonation of your average damsel-in-distress."

Her brown eyes flashed. "Then Mr. Keisatsu has underestimated me, which means I have the advantage," Sango retorted.

"You're definitely your father's daughter," Inuyasha chuckled, patting her arm. He paused to give a group of tourists the right of way and caught her gaze. "I was afraid that bandit got to you, because you've been extra quiet ever since."

"I've put it behind me," she declared breezily.

"You sure?" Inuyasha inquired. The warmth of genuine concern in the hanyou's expression slightly melted her resolve, and her grateful smile wobbled, causing Inuyasha's eyes to widen in dismay. "Don't you dare! Damn, I hate it when women cry." His grousing immediately lightened the mood, and he quickly changed the subject. "I'll talk to the front desk and make sure you're put into a decent suite. Keisatsu didn't give much warning on that detail, although I'll admit that it makes sense."

"I guess I'll just have to run home and pack after this meeting."

"What about your roommate?" Inuyasha asked. "She's into art, isn't she? Bet she'd like to see the Watashi. Invite her down; have her stay with you tonight—longer if you want. She could bring the things you need, and you wouldn't be alone."

Sango nodded slowly. "I'll give Rin a call and suggest it."

Inuyasha guided her to a side room that was marked _'Employees Only'_. "This is the place. Feels like I'm throwing you to the wolves here, but I'll be back to check on you after work. How about I bring Kagome, and we all go out for dinner?"

"I'd like that," Sango smiled.

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #5, Half Truth. 507 words.


	8. The Confession

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one in pajamas. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**Much later that evening…**_

**Chapter 8  
****The Confession**

Rin kept her bright eyes trained on the spoonful of pistachio gelato poised before her lips. "So?" she asked.

"So, what?" Sango replied distractedly, her attention fixed on the pages of a restaurant guide.

"You're not going to get out of telling me, you know," her roommate said lightly.

Marking her place with a finger, Sango looked up. Rin, resplendent in an outrageous pair of orange-checked pajamas, smiled from her seat in the center of one of the king-sized beds in their suite. "Tell you about what?" Sango sighed.

"The Kissing Bandit, of course!"

"There's nothing to tell," Sango shrugged. "You probably know more than I do since you've been following his career in the papers."

"Mm-hmm," hummed Rin around her spoon before pointing it at her roommate. "But you saw him… talked to him… _kissed_ him!"

"No," countered Sango. "He kissed me. There's a difference."

"So?" prodded Rin. "Was it nice?"

"Was _what_ nice?" Sango asked evasively, renewing her interest in four-star restaurants in the city.

"The kiss!" exclaimed Rin, chucking a pillow at her friend. "This guy goes around kissing women for a living—_sort of_—so I'll bet he's developed an impressive technique. From what I've read, he leaves the ladies so cross-eyed and tongue-tied that they can't even put together a coherent description of him. All anyone can say for sure is that he's tall, dark, and handsome." Color began to creep into Sango's cheeks, and Rin pressed her advantage. "Come _on_! I came all the way down here to keep you company; the least you can do is share a few details!" she wheedled.

Sango groaned in defeat. "Fine, you win. Tall—yes, he was tall. Dark—yes, his hair was black. Handsome—well… he wasn't ugly," she allowed.

"I've often wondered why no one can give a clear description of him; I thought maybe he was using some kind of trick to confuse his victims," Rin opined. "Is 'tall, dark, and _not_ ugly' _really_ all you recall about him?"

"Oh, no. I remember him vividly," Sango assured. Rin beckoned furiously for more, so she continued, "His hair was long enough to be pulled back into a tail, with tousled bangs that fell into his eyes… which were an unusual color."

"Unusual? Was he youkai, then?"

"I don't think so, no. His eyes _were_ a unique color—almost violet—but his ears were human, and there were no claws or visible markings."

"Fangs?" Rin inquired slyly.

Sango paused thoughtfully, then answered, "No. I would have noticed."

Rin's jaw dropped. "That must have been _some_ kiss!" she squealed.

The implication brought a full-force blush to her roommate's cheeks, and Sango huffily corrected her. "I didn't _feel_ them, you goose. He just smiled a lot, so I could _see_ his teeth." Tears streamed down Rin's cheeks as she giggled helplessly.

When she'd finally calmed some, Rin set aside her empty dessert cup and spoon. "So, Mr. Kissing Bandit actually chatted with you?"

"Yes. It's not like he swooped in and swept me off my feet or anything. He seemed completely normal, if a bit of a flirt."

"He _flirted_ with you?"

Nodding slowly, Sango said, "It sure felt like it at the time. He was actually very… charming."

Rin bounced and hugged a pillow. "Charming is good. What else?"

"He was very… confident."

Clasping her hands to her heart, Rin sighed dramatically. "Even better," she declared. "He sounds like a good match."

Sango shook a warning finger. "Let's not forget that he's a _criminal_. I refuse to become infatuated with a man like him."

Rin's eyes grew thoughtful. "So… does that mean you've been trying to put him out of your mind?"

"Of course," Sango replied firmly.

"With limited success?" Rin guessed. Her roommate's discomfort made the answer self-evident, and the young woman scooted over to give her best friend a much-needed hug. "Well, I can't say I blame you; Mr. Bandit has several points in his favor. He's an eligible bachelor, and he's holding down a steady job. Thanks to his unique skills, he's extraordinarily wealthy, and he's enormously popular, since most of the world would love to get their hands on him. What's more, he has the audacity to be charming, confident, and an excellent kisser."

Sango leaned into Rin's support, but mumbled, "I never said that."

Rin just smiled and patted her friend's back. "You didn't have to."

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #19, Rationalization. 734 words.


	9. The New Job

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the quick learner. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**The next morning…**_

**Chapter 9  
****The New Job**

"The_ Soul of Friendship_ is on display upstairs, so our guy will be coming around to see her. That much is certain. With any luck, you can finger him, and we'll nab him," Kouga reiterated as he leaned against the corner of the concierge desk.

"I think _luck_ is the operative word in that sentence," Ayame declared sweetly. "You can hardly expect Miss Sakamoto to stand watch day and night."

Keisatsu's blue eyes flashed with annoyance as he addressed himself to Sango, pointedly ignoring the red-haired wolf youkai. "While it's true that chances are slim that the thief will simply walk through the front doors, we're grateful for your presence. Should anyone suspicious be found in the building, it simplifies matters to have you on the premises to make an identification."

Sango absently smoothed a hand over the skirt of her smart new uniform; like all the regular employees of The Taiyoukai, she and Ayame wore navy with silver braid. "I'll do my best, sir," she promised.

"Let me assure you, Miss Sakamoto, you won't be in any real danger. This guy isn't the violent type, so the only risk you're running is… well, of being kissed again," kidded the investigator.

Sango fidgeted uncomfortably, searching for a reply, but Ayame's impatient snort cut her off. "Stop hovering and let the girl do her job, Keisatsu."

Kouga straightened, giving his watch a glance. "I _do_ need to check on the others, so I'll be on my way. If you see anything—and I mean _anything_—tell Ayame here. She's your go-to person for the duration."

Once the chief investigator had disappeared in the direction of the elevators, Ayame turned back to the computer stationed on the corner of the concierge desk. "This job should be a piece of cake for someone with your experience, so stop worrying," she chided mildly.

"I'm not…"

Ayame just tapped her nose with a clawed fingertip. "I'll handle any ticket sales; you call in restaurant reservations?" she offered.

"Sure," Sango agreed.

The day began slowly, but by midmorning, The Taiyoukai's lobby hummed. Traveling businessmen, vacationers, conference attendees, diners, gallery-goers—the whirl of activity was quite a change of pace from the relative serenity of the reception area at headquarters. By midafternoon, Sango felt more confident; there was a certain rhythm to what had seemed like chaos. The flow of guests, the phalanx of bellhops, the sprinting valets—there was a pattern. Perhaps that's what made it so easy to spot the man who didn't blend in.

Sango watched him covertly for several minutes, and finally nudged her companion. "Ayame, don't you think that man is acting suspiciously?"

The redhead gave the lone figure an assessing look. "You catch on quickly, Miss Sakamoto; he's definitely up to something. Do you recognize him?"

"No," Sango quickly admitted.

Ayame nodded and reached for the phone. "I'll notify hotel security; they can deal with him. There's something you should keep in mind, though." When Sango gave the wolf youkai her full attention, she continued. "A criminal of the Bandit's caliber _wouldn't_ stand out like that, or he would have been caught long ago. Someone who actually draws attention like that guy is either a complete amateur… or…"

Surprised by the amused smirk that tilted Ayame's lips, Sango prompted, "Or…?"

"A decoy."

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #4, Being Watched. 551 words.


	10. The Artist

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one who finds ferocity adorable. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**Later that evening…**_

**Chapter 10  
****The Artist**

"What did you do all day?" Sango asked once the waiter excused himself from their table.

Rin's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Mostly, I wandered through the Watashi Gallery… have you been up there yet? There are two huge bronze guardian statues on either side of the entry that look ferocious enough to take a bite out of anyone who dares to trespass—Ah and Un. They're _adorable_."

Sango hid a smile. _Only Rin could find something fierce equally adorable. _"I was planning to visit on Saturday, when I'm not on duty. If you stick around, you can give me a guided tour."

"I think I will," Rin cheerfully declared. "Your Mr. Taisho has an archive attached to the gallery, and I wouldn't mind exploring that for a few days."

"You don't have classes now?"

"Not until summer session begins. I know I'm taking advantage, but I want to make the most of this opportunity. You should too."

"I suppose," Sango said, conscientiously scanning the faces of the other patrons of the hotel restaurant they'd chosen for dinner. "So, did you see the statue that's supposed to be stolen?"

"Yeah. _Nigimitama: Soul of Friendship_ drew quite a crowd today; most people were probably curious, but there were reporters and photographers, too. The rest of the gallery rooms were quiet, so I explored. You'll _never_ guess whose work was on display!"

"Oh? Whose?"

"Did you know that the illustrious Watashi Gallery has a set of four painted scrolls by Masashi Himawari?" Rin asked innocently.

Sango's eyes widened. "I had no idea. Oh, wow! Mr. Taisho must _really_ have liked them for him to put them here. This is where he puts all his favorites, you know."

Rin leaned forward and whispered, "How in the world did they end up here? I can't _believe_ I've got something hanging in the Watashi! I didn't know whether to faint or scream when I saw them. I thought you said those scrolls were for someone in your _family_."

"Well, that's true… in a way," Sango said, looking sheepish.

"I _definitely_ want to hear this story," Rin declared, settling back with an eager expression.

Sango shrugged. "It's _not_ a big deal; I just… don't talk about it much."

Immediately apologetic, Rin said, "You don't _have_ to tell me."

"No, it's okay… really," Sango insisted. "To put it simply, Inuyasha Taisho considers my brother and me 'his'. So in a sense, we're part of his family."

After a moment's consideration, Rin's head tilted. "Isn't that pretty rare? I didn't think many humans got close to youkai."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Sango protested. "Inuyasha wouldn't even be around if that was the case; he's a hanyou."

"How did you meet Inuyasha?"

"I've _always_ known Inuyasha," Sango smiled. "You know that youkai and hanyou are long-lived, right? Well, Inuyasha and my father were best friends; they were together at university. He used to visit my house so much, he's a part of all my earliest memories."

"I had no idea he was that old," Rin murmured. "He seems to be about the same age as you and me!"

"He's a lot older than he looks; most youkai are. Anyhow, when our parents were both killed in the accident five years ago, Kohaku and I were left alone… or at least, we _thought_ we were. Inuyasha immediately stepped in and did everything he could for us."

"I've heard that inuyoukai are very protective."

"That's an understatement," Sango remarked, her smile growing fond. "Naturally, I didn't want to rely completely on his generosity, but for Kohaku's sake I've let Inuyasha help us along. I'm sure he asked his brother to consider me for the receptionist's position, and I suspect he's behind Sesshoumaru's recommendation, which smoothed the way for Kohaku to attend such a prestigious school." Sango shrugged helplessly. "I keep telling him we can't accept any special favoritism, but he…"

"He sees it as taking care of his own," Rin supplied.

"That about sums it up," Sango nodded, "except for the fact that when Inuyasha claimed us, so did Sesshoumaru. He's been watching over us as well… in his own way. I wanted to show my appreciation, and since he finds so much pleasure in beautiful things, I made a present of those scrolls."

"Which he placed in the Watashi Gallery!" Rin gleefully concluded.

Enjoying her roommate's understandable excitement, Sango dropped her voice conspiratorially. "I wonder if he might be in the market for _other_ pieces by Masashi Himawari? Don't you have a show coming up next month? Maybe I could find a way to mention it to him."

Rin raised both hands. "Enough! I'm still trying to process the fact that _the_ Sesshoumaru Taisho approved of those paintings. Unless… he put them there just to please you?"

Sango laughed outright. "No. Mr. Taisho only does things to please himself, and I already told you—I didn't even know they were here." She shook a scolding finger at her friend. "You know they're good; at the time, you said they were some of your best work."

"That was months ago," Rin said with a playful little pout. "I've _improved_ since then."

Sango arched her brows. "Don't forget that Mr. Taisho is a collector; there's a very good chance he'll be on the prowl for more of 'Mr. Himawari's' work."

Lifting her glass, Rin toasted their mutual benefactor. "Then, I wish him all the success in the world!"

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #15, Lie to Children. 907 words.


	11. The Sighting

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one who's lurking in shadows. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**Several days later…**_

**Chapter 11  
****The Sighting**

_Oh, shit. It was supposed to be the __other__ girl's turn tonight. Of all the rotten lu–_

"What are you doing, lurking in the shadows?" inquired Kouga in an undertone. "Your shift ended hours ago… are you still babysitting our witness?"

Ayame bristled at the chief investigator, who leaned casually against a nearby pillar. "I'm just doing my job, Keisatsu."

"I figured as much, but that doesn't explain why you're on edge," he replied, blue eyes sharp.

Forcing herself to relax, the redhead gestured towards the opposite end of the lobby, where a wide archway led to a variety of restaurants and shops. "She and that roommate of hers have established a routine; they've been taking turns running to that gelato shop every night before it closes."

Kouga's eyebrows rose. "So?"

"So… _that's_ why I'm here. Once Miss Sakamoto is back in her room, I'll call it a night."

"Uh-huh. _That_ explains why you're so tense. Dangerous stuff, gelato," he drawled skeptically, closing the distance between them. "I could have sworn you were _anxious_."

Ayame's glance was scornful. "Are you accusing me of something… or are you sniffing around for _other_ reasons? Either way, you're wasting your time."

The wolf youkai only smirked and scanned the lobby. At this late hour, the lights were low and the atmosphere was subdued. Most activity centered around the valet desk, where well-dressed restaurant patrons awaited their cars. A handful of travel-weary businessmen trudged off a shuttle and moved towards the check-in desk, suitcases rolling in their wake. When Sango appeared a minute later, two cups of gelato occupying her hands, Ayame stepped out of her line of sight. "I take it Miss Sakamoto doesn't know you're keeping an eye on her after hours?" Kouga remarked.

"She'd be upset," Ayame replied candidly.

"No doubt," Kouga agreed. The redhead stiffened slightly, and the investigator's eyes slid towards Sango, who'd been waylaid by the head bellhop. If Miss Sakamoto's obvious distraction was any indication, the poor fellow didn't have a chance.

Ayame swore under her breath and looked ready to break cover, but Kouga laid a hand on her arm. "She's a big girl; I've seen her give plenty of guys the brush-off over the last week." To his surprise, the she-wolf was biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. "Well, aren't you the mother hen," he teased.

Paying Keisatsu no mind, Ayame watched as Sango disentangled herself from her conversation with the young man and jogged towards the elevators. Suppressing a growl, the redhead darted after her, calling out a desperate, "Miss Sakamoto!" as she went.

Kouga caught up with the redhead—alone—in front of the elevators. "Relax. She's on her way up to her room, safe and sound. What, were you planning to tuck her in too?" he joked, ignoring her glare. "Come on, Ayame. I'll buy you coffee."

The redhead hesitated, then wearily replied, "I think I need something stronger." Kouga grinned and led the way back out into the lobby; Ayame followed more slowly, darting a concerned look over her shoulder. Above the doors through which Miss Sakamoto had just disappeared was a tastefully antiquated device that used a sliding bar to show the elevator's progress. At that moment, the car she occupied was stopped… between floors.

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #13, Shadows. 546 words.


	12. The Confrontation

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one who lives up to his reputation. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**Meanwhile…**_

**Chapter 12  
****The Confrontation**

Sango slipped through the doors without a second to spare, barely making it between the sliding panels. The elevator's only other occupant froze for an instant before pushing off from the back wall. "What floor?" he politely inquired.

Realizing that she was staring, Sango blinked. _Was I wrong? I thought for sure…_

"Your hands are full," he pointed out, his finger hovering in front of the rows of buttons. "What floor are you on?"

She looked down at the forgotten cups of gelato, then back at her companion. _It's him… isn't it?_ Barely noticing that the elevator had begun its ascent, Sango scrutinized the man. From his rumpled shirt and loosened tie, he looked every inch the travel-worn businessman, but those eyes—she would have known them anywhere. Sango straightened and made her accusation. "It's you!"

Miroku's confusion seemed genuine enough, and he replied, "Me?"

The black hair, tied back in a low tail—it was just the same as she remembered. "It _is_ you," she asserted.

He slowly shook his head, all innocence and chagrin. "I'm very sorry, but I think you have mistaken me for someone else."

Sango realized then that she even recognized his voice. "No, I _know_ you."

"You're sure?"

"As if I could forget," she scoffed.

"Hmm. I see," he murmured, casually reaching over to pull the emergency stop. "That complicates matters." To Sango's dismay, the man calmly herded her into the corner, corralling her between his arms as he took a grip on the handrails. Leaning down so they were nose to nose, Miroku said, "You were _not_ supposed to see me, my dear Miss Sakamoto."

"Yes, I was," she bravely retorted. "That's why I'm here."

Miroku's eyes crinkled in amusement. "So, you're out to catch me are you?"

More than a little flustered by the man's proximity, Sango clung to her defiance. "Isn't everyone?" she snapped. "You're the Kissing Bandit, after all."

A slow smile spread across his face. "Am I, now? And what gave you that impression?" Miroku inquired.

"Y-you kissed me."

"So I did," Miroku conceded. "Is that the sum total of your evidence against me? It seems dangerously circumstantial. One kiss doesn't necessarily make me a criminal."

Holding her dessert in a defensive manner, Sango tried ignoring her giddy response to his warm, teasing tone. "You never should have come after something belonging to Mr. Taisho. He and Inuyasha won't let you get away with this," she blurted.

Miroku frowned thoughtfully. "You may be right about that, my dear." Straightening, he began removing his necktie.

"What do you think you're _doing_?" Sango squeaked in alarm.

Pausing to take in his companion's pale face, Miroku smiled reassuringly. "Relax. I'm not going to _do_ anything, but I need you to stay put long enough for me to make my getaway. May I?" he inquired as he relieved her of one of the gelato cups, placing it on the floor beside the door.

"I'll scream," Sango warned, pressing herself into the corner as he returned.

"There's no need for that," he soothed. Reaching for her free hand, he looped the length of navy silk around her wrist. "It wouldn't do to frighten the other guests."

_Keisatsu __did__ say he's not the violent type._ Sango shifted uncertainly as a complex knot took shape under his nimble fingers, and before long, she was securely anchored to the handrail. She also realized that she wouldn't be able to reach the panel of buttons—or its emergency telephone. "You're just going to leave me here?"

"It won't take you long to unravel this," Miroku replied, giving his handiwork a pleased pat. "I'll have a head start, though." Crossing to the panel, he released the stop, and the elevator continued its climb. Noting Sango's pale face, he sighed, "You'll be fine… really. Am I frightening you?"

"Of course not," she retorted staunchly. "I was assured that you aren't… dangerous. The Kissing Bandit has never harmed anyone; you just kiss some random girl on your way out the door."

"You make an excellent point," Miroku said with a nod. Glancing at the light display, he made a quick decision and pulled the stop, bringing the elevator to another halt.

"What are you doing _now_?" Sango inquired warily as he again stepped close.

Miroku's eyes danced with mischief. "Living up to my reputation," he replied simply. Tilting her chin upwards with a crooked finger, he gently pressed his lips to hers. Sango didn't respond, but she didn't resist either, which was all the encouragement Miroku needed. His hand wandered into her hair, then slid around to hold the nape of her neck as he laid a series of light caresses across her cheekbone. As he reclaimed her mouth with more insistence, she sighed softly into the kiss, and he hummed his approval.

That's when she interrupted his escalating intentions by planting a full cup of strawberry gelato against the side of his face. Jerking backwards with a startled grunt, Miroku was caught by the picture Sango made as she leaned, weak-kneed, against the elevator wall. She trembled slightly as she tried to catch her breath, and he was sure that the heat in her gaze wasn't all anger. With an effort, he stepped back, but his eyes didn't leave hers for a moment. "Sango, I think you might just be the perfect woman," he murmured with frank admiration.

All she could do was shake her head in confusion.

Undaunted by the slide of frozen fruit into his shirt collar, Miroku turned to release the elevator stop and collect his suitcase. As the soft _ping_ announced their arrival, he held a cautionary finger to his lips. "Shh," he whispered as the doors opened onto an empty elevator lobby. Sango dazedly watched as he punched the number for her floor and stepped off the car. "Go back to your room, Sango," Miroku ordered. As the doors closed, he quickly added, "I'll be seeing you again."

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #1, Liar Paradox. 993 words.


	13. The Discrepancy

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one who assumed. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**The next morning…**_

**Chapter 13  
****The Discrepancy**

In spite of the early hour, the conference room claimed by Keisatsu's team of investigators was abuzz when Sango arrived. Spotting Hakkaku, she edged over to the youkai and whispered, "What's going on?"

"The Watashi Gallery was robbed last night," the detective replied wearily.

Her jaw dropped, but before Sango could gather her tumbling thoughts into any kind of order, Kouga Keisatsu marched into the room and clapped his hands to gain everyone's attention. As the din slowly quieted, she glanced curiously at the young woman who accompanied the chief investigator. Sango was about to ask Hakkaku who the newcomer was when the conference room door opened again and Ayame hurried to stand at her other side. "Are you okay?" the redhead inquired, searching her face carefully.

Surprised by Ayame's concerned expression, Sango only had time to nod before Keisatsu began. "Okay, people… here's what we know. The statue's gone, and none of the alarms in the building were tripped. We're reviewing the security tapes now. This is Mitzie; she was running the register in the all-night gift shop."

The young woman seemed alternately pleased and dismayed by the attention she was drawing, but she was clearly awed by Kouga, judging by her shy glances up at the handsome policeman's face. "I don't understand," Sango whispered to Hakkaku. "Who is she?"

"She's the latest victim," Hakkaku replied quietly.

"What do you mean?"

The agent shrugged casually. "She's the one the Bandit kissed last night," he explained.

"But… that's…" Sango trailed off as her gaze snapped back to the girl who was still fawning over Kouga. To her chagrin, a surge of bitter jealousy seared through her gut.

Ayame touched her elbow. "What is it?" she murmured.

_How could I be so stupid? Why didn't I call someone last night? I could have prevented this theft! I'm practically an accomplice! I actually thought he __meant__ it when he said…_ Anger and shame burned across her cheeks and she mumbled, "I need to get out of here." As she hurried toward the door, Ayame followed close on her heels.

"Your scent was doing some pretty impressive gymnastics in there. What's the matter?" demanded the redhead once they were out in the lobby.

"I don't understand what's going on," she replied. "Ayame, _I_ was kissed last night."

The wolf youkai's expression closed. "When was this?"

"I saw him—the same guy—and followed him into the elevator. Look, I can prove it!" From her pocket, Sango withdrew a carefully-rolled men's necktie. "See? This is his; there should be a scent on it, right?"

Ayame covered her eyes and released a garbled noise that was half groan, half growl. "Have you shown this to anyone else?"

"Just my roommate. I was planning to turn this over to Mr. Keisatsu this morning, but…"

Ayame took Sango by the elbow and steered her across the lobby towards the elevators. "I think it's time to have a chat with Mr. Taisho," she announced.

"Sesshoumaru's here?"

"Oh, yes… since yesterday evening. He's in one of the executive suites right now, meeting with _my_ boss."

"_Your_ boss… but… I thought you worked for the Inspector."

The redhead jabbed the call button for the elevator. "Miss Sakamoto, Keisatsu _isn't_ my boss."

"He's not? But all his other agents are…"

"Wolf youkai?" Ayame finished for her, flashing a tight smile. "Purely coincidental, I assure you."

Sango shook her head with growing confusion. "I just assumed… so, you're not with the police at all?"

"No, I report to Murasaki. The Taisho brothers hired him to assist with this case."

"You're a private investigator?" Sango asked, trying to keep up.

Ayame gestured for Sango to precede her into the elevator, then swiped a passkey and punched the button for the penthouse level. "More like consultants. These kinds of crimes fall within Mr. Murasaki's area of expertise."

"Security experts, then?"

Ayame's smile was enigmatic. "Something like that," she agreed. Their elevator arrived on the topmost floor, and Ayame led the way towards one of the corner suites. She rapped briskly on the door, which was soon opened by a startled Inuyasha.

"What happened?" he demanded, immediately jumping into over-protective mode. "You okay, Sango?"

"_Nothing_ happened," Sango sighed. "Well, almost nothing…" She only made it a few feet into the room when her steps faltered, and she tried to comprehend the tableau before her. Sesshoumaru was seated at an ornate table—obviously antique. On the polished wood surface before him stood a small statue—probably jade. In the chair to Mr. Taisho's right sat the _last_ man she'd expected to see—perfectly at ease.

Both rose courteously as the two women entered, and Sango swayed. Stationing himself behind her, Inuyasha placed his hands on her shoulders and cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I guess you two have… met?"

"I'm afraid Miss Sakamoto and I have not been properly introduced," Miroku stated, confidently stepping forward. When she reluctantly permitted him to take her cold fingertips between his warm palms, he bowed over her hand. "Miroku Murasaki, at your service."

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #16, Cry Wolf. 837 words.


	14. The Explanation

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the calm one. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**Moments later… **_

**Chapter 14  
****The Explanation**

"You have questions, Miss Sakamoto?" Sesshoumaru calmly invited once they were all seated.

Sango's eyes remained fixed on the slender figure that stood in the center of the table—a lovely young woman with outstretched arms. "Isn't this the statue that was supposedly stolen last night?" she asked.

"_Nigimitama: Soul of Friendship_—unfortunately, she is merely a replica," Sesshoumaru supplied. "The thief stole the real one before Mr. Murasaki could make his substitution."

"It took days to have a convincing replica made," Miroku volunteered. "It was a gamble, and it's a shame the effort was wasted."

A thought occurred to Sango, and she glanced guiltily at the man she'd confronted the night before. "You were… late?"

Miroku shrugged nonchalantly. "Even if I hadn't been delayed, I couldn't have made the switch. Our bandit was already backing young Mitzie into a corner by the time Mr. Taisho let me into the gallery late last night."

"We walked in only to find an empty case," Inuyasha growled, baring his fangs.

"Hnn," hummed Sesshoumaru mildly, managing to sound even more dangerous than his brother despite his reserve.

"Sir?" Sango dared to meet Sesshoumaru Taisho's implacable gaze before stating, "You knew from the beginning that the man who kissed me wasn't the _real_ bandit, didn't you."

"I suspected as much," he admitted.

"Why didn't one of you _tell_ me?" she demanded, her voice hard-edged.

"We couldn't," Sesshoumaru replied.

Sango shook her head in frustration. "But… why not?"

"If you'll recall, the police were present when you made your announcement," the elder Mr. Taisho pointed out blandly.

"Well, _later_ then," Sango persisted. "What was the point in making me, Mr. Keisatsu, the police—_everyone_—think that I'd seen the Kissing Bandit."

Sesshoumaru tapped the table lightly with the tips of his claws. "It would have been inconvenient for the authorities to know of Mr. Murasaki's involvement in the case," he answered carefully.

"No kidding," grumbled Inuyasha. "Keisatsu just about gave me a heart attack when he asked us to produce the girl that had been kissed. When you showed up, claiming to have seen the thief, your timing couldn't have been better. After that, we _had_ to go with your story."

"_Really_, gentlemen," Miroku chided. "Give me _some_ credit for doing a thorough job."

A light bulb went on in Sango's mind. "The second statue that was stolen—the one from your office—it _wasn't_?"

"That is correct," Sesshoumaru confirmed.

"And… Inspector Keisatsu doesn't know?"

"Also correct," he said with a firm nod.

Sango glanced into the faces of those around the table. "Why?"

One of Sesshoumaru's shoulders lifted, and he simply replied, "Strategy."

"It's a matter of professional pride for the Kissing Bandit to finish one collection before moving on to another," Ayame interjected. "By secreting away one of the statues, Mr. Taisho gains the advantage. The thief will have to come to us."

"Wouldn't it be better to share this with the authorities? Work together?" Sango ventured.

Miroku shook his head. "Right now, five people know about our little plot. If we bring in Keisatsu, that number with multiply exponentially. To remain in control of the situation, the secret must be kept."

"That wolf is going to be _so_ pissed when he finds out we're messing with his precious investigation," Inuyasha gloated.

"So… you _are_ planning to tell him? Eventually, I mean?" Sango asked.

"Oh, Keisatsu will find out eventually," the hanyou smirked, "when we catch the Kissing Bandit for him."

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #10, Lie Detector/Truth Serum. 578 words.


	15. The Transfer

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the natty dresser. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**Three days later… **_

**Chapter 15  
****The Transfer **

Assistant Director Kagewaki Hitomi bowed over Sango's hand with a chivalrous flourish that had all of Miroku's overt charm, but none of its effect. Thrusting _that_ unwelcome thought from her mind, Sango tried to focus on the man's words as he led her into the first-floor galleries of the Kakera Center for the Arts. "I'll have to thank Mr. Taisho again for lending you to us," he said as he strolled along, hands clasped behind his back. "You couldn't have come at a better time, Miss Sakamoto. What with _Sakimitama: Soul of Love _on display upstairs and the opening of the new wing coming up in three weeks' time—well! Our staff has been all in a dither."

_Did he just say… 'dither'?_ Sango fought to keep her expression neutral. She wasn't quite sure if Mr. Hitomi was for real. Still, in spite of his fussy manners and flowery speeches, Sango decided the man was as harmless as he was handsome.

"In his letter of introduction, he spoke of you in glowing terms," he effused.

Sango cut him a sharp glance, and the assistant director laughed uncomfortably. "Well, glowing _for him_," he amended. "I believe his actual words were 'quite capable'."

"You _do_ know Mr. Taisho, then," she surmised.

"I think _most_ art fanciers in this city are acquainted with Sesshoumaru Taisho's unique passion and reserve," Hitomi smiled. "I've met Mr. Taisho on several occasions. He's a frequent patron at the Kakera, and he's a member of our board of trustees. The gallery's recent renovation and expansion is due in large part to his oversight and contributions."

"I see," she murmured.

Hitomi halted beneath a large arch and fixed her with dark eyes. "Have you been here before, Miss Sakamoto?"

Sango had the grace to blush. "Not since middle school," she admitted.

He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "It's the full tour for you, then."

"Thank you, sir."

"_Sir_? Piffle. None of that formality. You must call me Kagewaki," he invited eagerly. "I shall be relying on you a great deal as the night of the gala approaches, so I think we should be friendly right from the start. What do you say?"

The assistant director's hopeful expression coaxed a smile from Sango—her first _real_ smile in three very long days. This man was so… uncomplicated, and his affectations lightened her mood. "Thank you. That would be nice." Grateful for the diversion he provided, she slipped her hand into the crook of his proffered arm and let him take the lead.

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #20, Masquerade. 424 words.


	16. The Visitor

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one who's entertaining. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**A week later…**_

**Chapter 16  
****The Visitor**

"I'm home," Sango called, dropping her keys onto the small table by the door and slipping gratefully out of her shoes.

"In here," Rin sang out.

Sango sniffed and frowned. She knew her roommate quite well, and one of the artist's odd quirks was the fact that she didn't know how to cook. Perhaps it was more correct to say that Rin only knew how to cook one thing—toast. The absolute pinnacle of Rin's culinary prowess—what she considered 'company' food—was cinnamon toast. If the warm scent in the air was any indication, Rin was entertaining.

Following her nose into the kitchen, Sango found Rin and Miroku sitting at the tiny table, cozy as can be. "What are _you_ doing here?" she demanded. As the man rose to greet her, she reconsidered the situation and shook her head. "No, wait! What are you doing _here_?"

"I was in the neighborhood?" Miroku tried, standing bravely in the face of her stormy gaze.

Sango rounded on her roommate. "Do you know who this man _is_?" she demanded incredulously.

"Of course I do," Rin tutted.

"You _do_?"

Rin's dimples appeared, and she gestured towards her guest. "He introduced himself."

He sketched a little bow. "Miroku Murasaki, at your s—"

"Oh, shut up," she snapped, glaring furiously at him. He wisely retreated to his chair, and Sango turned to Rin. "Just because a stranger tells you his name _doesn't_ mean you know who they are," she pointed out in exasperation.

Unperturbed, Rin fluttered her fingers towards Miroku, saying, "Oh, I know exactly who he is." She rose to her feet and patted his shoulder on her way to the cupboard. Extracting a mug, she calmly inquired, "Tea?"

"How?" Sango prodded. "I never told you about Mr. Murasaki." She sent a pointed glance towards the man, and added, "I haven't told _anyone_."

Miroku nodded amiably, traces of amusement lingering at the corners of his mouth. Rin pressed a filled mug into Sango's hands and pulled out a chair, waiting until her roommate took it before continuing, "Well, just _look_ at him. It's pretty obvious isn't it?"

Sango shifted nervously, replying, "What's obvious?"

Rin reclaimed her seat and leaned forward, propping her chin in her hands. "His _eyes_. Aren't they the most _unusual_ shade?"

"Oh… that." Color crept into Sango's cheeks, and she tried to hurry the conversation onto safer paths. "Well, if you gathered that much, why in heaven's name did you let him in?"

Shrugging, Rin said, "I _didn't_ let him in; he was here when I got home."

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #12, Blind Trust. 428 words.


	17. The Plea

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one who was somewhat premature. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**Moments later… **_

**Chapter 17  
****The Plea**

Sango gaped at Miroku, who had taken a sudden interest in the tabletop. "You _broke into_ my apartment?"

"Hmm… I may have let myself in," he replied slowly.

"That's… that's _illegal_!" Sango sputtered.

"He _is_ a burglar," Rin interjected reasonably. "It's what he does."

"_Did_," Miroku corrected. "I'm officially retired."

Sango's eyes narrowed. "Oh? Today's little home invasion doesn't count?"

Miroku turned to Rin and cocked a brow. "Tell me, Miss Himawari…"

"Call me Rin," she interrupted warmly.

He beamed at her, saying, "If you insist. _Rin_, would you have invited me in if you'd been home when I arrived?"

The young woman's eyes sparkled. "Yes, of course, Mr. Murasaki!"

"Ah, you must call me Miroku," he chided.

"How nice! Thank you, Miroku!" Rin cheerfully returned, to Sango's growing disbelief.

Finally, Murasaki turned back to her. "There! You see, Miss Sakamoto? When I entered your home, I wasn't really unwelcome—merely premature."

"That makes sense," Rin said approvingly.

Sango buried her face in her hands. _Wonderful_. _They're ganging up on me._ "You can't talk your way out of the fact that you're _not_ supposed to be here, Mr. Murasaki," Sango retorted. Turning to Rin, she begged, "And the next time you walk in on a burglar, _please_ run next door for help instead of offering tea and toast?"

Giggling, Rin excused herself. "Since Miroku and I already had our chat, I'll be getting back to my brushes. You're right, you know, Sango," she added just before she ducked through the door. "He's quite charming!" With a fleeting wink, she was gone, and Sango closed her eyes, wishing she was anywhere but here.

Mercifully, Miroku held his tongue and let the silence stretch while she collected herself. Finally, she was able to address him with a measure of civility. "Why did you come?"

"I needed to speak with you."

"So you picked the lock? Or did you come in through the skylight?" she asked, exasperated. "I was under the impression that you aren't really a crook."

"I'm not," he replied calmly.

Sango folded her arms over her chest and eyed him skeptically. "If all you needed was to speak with me, then I think breaking and entering is a little extreme."

Miroku smiled ruefully. "All the usual means of communication seem to have been closed."

"Oh?" Sango responded lightly.

"Miss Sakamoto, you haven't answered your telephone, replied to emails, or acknowledged any of the messages we've left—for the _ten_ days since you transferred to the Kakera. The brothers Taisho are beside themselves."

"Did they send you here?" she asked warily.

"No," he sighed. "They didn't send me over to harass you. Listen, I can understand why you're upset with them…" At her sharp look, he amended, "With _us_. However, Inuyasha Taisho is practically wilting in the face of your ire, and even Sesshoumaru Taisho has shown signs of distress."

That caught Sango's attention, and she scrutinized Miroku carefully. "How would _you_ know how Mr. Taisho is feeling?"

Miroku tapped the side of his nose. "I'm quite perceptive where youkai are concerned," he assured her. "This whole mess isn't their fault—not really. Couldn't you ease up on them?"

Sango looked away and shrugged. "You all _lied_ to me. That's not easy to overlook."

"You made a few assumptions, and we didn't correct them… but we never lied to you, Miss Sakamoto."

Anger flashed in her eyes, barely hiding the hurt. "You _used_ me."

"You _helped_ us," he soothed.

"You helped _yourself_," she accused.

"I… did," Miroku admitted, his eyes taking on a dreamy quality. "I suppose I should apologize for those kisses, but I really _would_ be lying if I said I regretted them." Eyeing Sango's pinkening cheeks, he added, "Perhaps they were a little… premature?"

_But not entirely unwelcome_, her mind helpfully supplied. Wanting desperately to change the subject, Sango pushed back her chair and carried her mug to the sink. Bracing her hands on its rim, she glared at him over her shoulder. "I've done everything that all of you have asked. I'm at the Kakera, I'm helping Kagewaki, I check in with Ayame, and I'm _deceiving_ Keisatsu. What more do you want?"

Miroku jumped to his feet and hurried to her side. "A truce. If we're going to work together, doesn't it make sense that we should be on friendlier terms?"

"Work together? On what? I spend my days making phone calls, stuffing envelopes, and trying to keep fifty-odd artists on something resembling a schedule. There's nothing I can _do_ for the investigation any more."

As she turned to face him, he gathered her hands into his. "Your part in this isn't over, Miss Sakamoto."

"Sure," she remarked in a flat tone. "I'm an accomplice."

"No," he crooned. "You're an _ally_. It's not us against the authorities, if that's what has you worried. We share a common goal, so everyone's going to be happy in the end."

"I… _suppose_… I could drop by the offices tomorrow morning and speak with them," Sango relented, gently extracting her hands from Miroku's.

"Thank you," he murmured, then gazed at her soulfully. "Am I forgiven as well?"

Backing up a step, Sango said, "I don't recall you _apologizing_ for anything, Mr. Murasaki."

Miroku grinned and leaned forward to whisper, "You're right. I didn't." She pointed brusquely towards the door, and he went without complaint. Pausing on the threshold, he snapped his fingers and said, "I meant to ask…" Sango's brows lifted in invitation, so he continued, "Do you _really_ find me charming?" He found himself on the receiving end of a firm shove, and the door slammed behind him. Humming snatches of a sprightly tune, Miroku Murasaki strolled down the hallway towards the stairs.

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #21, Not So Honest Mistake. 953 words.


	18. The Rescue

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the curious one. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**Later that week…**_

**Chapter 18  
****The Rescue**

Sesshoumaru walked along the echoing corridor, listening with half an ear to Kagewaki Hitomi's excited commentary. Curiosity had lured him out of his offices to check on progress at the Kakera. The new wing still smelled of plaster and paint, but all along the wide hall, various rooms were already being put to good use. Dozens of the city's artists had been invited to showcase their work for the kick-off celebration, and many collectors had been convinced to loan some rarer pieces as well.

Hitomi expounded at length upon the virtues of Miss Sakamoto, whose assistance was proving invaluable, and Sesshoumaru made a mental note to speak with accounting about discreetly increasing Sango's salary. _It would not do for the Kakera to hire her out from under us._ Just as they reached the second floor, the assistant director's cell phone chirped, and he glanced at its display. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Taisho? I've been expecting this call," he said with an apologetic bow.

Left to his own devices, Sesshoumaru explored several rooms, casting an experienced eye over the paintings that stood against the walls. He frequented small studios and galleries both at home and on his travels because discovering the work of new and talented artists carried with it a certain sense of triumph. In some small way, his love for beautiful things helped Sesshoumaru recapture the thrill of the hunt, reminiscent of conquests of old.

If the haphazard disarray at every turn was any indication, most of the staff was away on a break. A few industrious types had stayed behind, however, and he paused to idly watch a group of art students carefully re-assembling a large sculpture in one of the alcoves. The next room was occupied by a young woman on a stepladder, and Sesshoumaru intended to keep walking, but his attention was arrested by a sizeable painting on the far wall. Slipping through the archway, he gazed with closely-guarded awe at the vibrant watercolor. It was a floral; a single arch of golden forsythia positively glowed, suffused with an inner light, magnificently capturing one of springtime's ephemeral glories. Slowly, Sesshoumaru's eyes wandered over the piece, taken by an eerie sense of familiarity. Really, it was the most marvelous coincidence, for the simple arrangement was the same as an _ikebana_ he'd done mere weeks ago—right down to the black river rocks anchoring the branch.

He was pulled from his contemplation when a tiny growl of frustration emanated from the girl on the ladder. She balanced precariously on the topmost rung, trying to adjust the track lighting that was anchored into the high ceiling. Plainly, she was too short to reach, but she batted determinedly at the uncooperative fixture with a ruler. When she began to teeter, he moved.

Leaping lightly onto the ladder behind her, he steadied the young woman, who squeaked in surprise as strong hands circled her waist. For a moment, she simply leaned into his solidity, limp with relief; but soon, she tipped her head back to gaze up at him. "Hello, there," she breathed.

"Hnn."

Immediately she squirmed in his grip as she turned partially around for a better look at her rescuer. "You're youkai."

"You are correct," he replied evenly.

"You're Sesshoumaru Taisho," she murmured. Wide, brown eyes roved his face with frank interest, taking in the markings that distinguished him. He waited impassively for the usual reactions, but after a long minute, she met his gaze and simply said, "Sorry… I've never seen a youkai up close before. Thanks for catching me." Without waiting for a response, she turned her attention back to the task at hand. Staring thoughtfully at the ceiling, she gestured towards the bothersome light fixture. "I was trying to swivel that spotlight."

"You should leave the adjustment to someone who can reach," he remarked blandly, wondering how long it would take her to realize that she was impinging upon his personal space. She seemed quite comfortable with her head resting against his shoulder.

"You're right," she agreed, pouting slightly in concentration. "Say… _you're_ tall. You could do it! It just needs to turn like _this_, then down a smidge," she explained, demonstrating the motion she wanted with an upraised hand.

Nonplussed by the young woman's complete lack of awe, Sesshoumaru decided to humor her. "What is your name?" he inquired.

"That's _right_, we haven't been introduced!" she smiled, her eyes taking on a mischievous sparkle. "I'm Rin."

"Are you afraid of heights, Rin?"

"Not really, no."

"Then you shall make the adjustment," he declared. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he pressed it into her hand. "The metal will be hot." Splaying his fingers wide and taking firm hold of her ribs, Sesshoumaru smoothly lifted Rin until she was perched on his shoulder, partially braced within the upward curve of his arm.

"You're strong," she managed, steadying herself with a hand atop his head.

"You're small," he countered. Thankfully, Rin soon realized that she was pulling his hair and relaxed her death grip. To his amusement, she smoothed his hair back into place with an apologetic pat, but when her fingers slid down the side of his head, brushing past the tip of his ear before settling on his other shoulder, he stiffened. Clearing his throat, Sesshoumaru asked, "Can you reach?"

"Nearly," Rin answered.

"Hang on," he ordered, carrying her up another step.

"Perfect!" she exclaimed triumphantly, and after a few moments of fussing, the light was properly directed. Sesshoumaru descended slowly, then dropped to one knee so Rin could easily slide off her impromptu perch.

She'd just begun to thank him again when Kagewaki Hitomi bustled into the room. "Rin! What do you think you're _doing_?" he demanded, plainly aghast as Sesshoumaru straightened up and adjusted his clothing.

"Fixing that light," she answered matter-of-factly. "The angle was all wrong."

"But… but… but…" sputtered the assistant director. "You can't be bothering Mr. Taisho with such petty matters!"

The intended rebuke was completely lost on the young woman. "Relax, Mr. Hitomi. I only borrowed him for a minute, and I promise I didn't break him," she cheerfully assured the man, who had taken to hand-wringing.

Ignoring the entire exchange, Sesshoumaru crossed to examine the signature on the painting that first caught his eye. _This is a Masashi Himawari._ Golden eyes took on a gleam. Hitomi offered to escort him through the remaining rooms on the third floor, and Sesshoumaru nodded his agreement. Before following the man out into the hall, though, he faced Rin. _She must be one of Himawari's assistants_, he reasoned, watching her straighten the now-lit painting. "Will there be more?" he asked.

"More? Well, I _suppose_ I could put you to work, if that's what you're asking. Mr. Hitomi might be annoyed though…"

Sesshoumaru's lips twitched. "Will there be more of Masashi Himawari's work in the showing next week?" he clarified.

"Yes. This entire room has been reserved for Masashi Himawari's work," Rin answered proudly. "I have lots more paintings to hang before then."

"Do you know if _this_ painting is available?" he asked, motioning gracefully towards the golden forsythia.

"It is," Rin replied faintly.

"Please inform Mr. Himawari that I should like to purchase this piece," Sesshoumaru announced.

Rin's eyes widened. "Really?" she gasped.

"Hnn," he hummed, making it an affirmative. "Will he be at the gala?"

"Oh… I… that is, he… we…" Rin floundered, finally managing a weak, "Yes?"

"I look forward to meeting the man; he has remarkable talent," Sesshoumaru said, excusing himself with a brief inclination of his head.

Rin held her breath until she heard the distant chime of the elevator, then let out a whoop of joy that brought everyone on the floor running to see what had happened. She gleefully hugged every blessed one of them.

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #29, Flattery. 1,300 words.


	19. The Past

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the honest one. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**The next morning…**_

**Chapter 19  
****The Past**

"Aren't you happy to see me? I do believe I'm hurt."

Sango gave Miroku a hard look through the open car door. "_Ayame_ usually picks me up for work," she pointed out, feeling cornered.

"She's busy elsewhere for the next few days, so I've been assigned as your new driver," he explained.

Still not budging, Sango narrowed her eyes. "Who assigned you? I thought you were the president of your company."

"You _still_ don't trust me," he accused in a tone too mournful to be taken seriously.

Rolling her eyes, Sango relented and slid into the passenger seat as she retorted, "Well, what do you expect? First breaking and entering, now hijacking."

He chuckled, and once they'd moved into the flow of traffic, Miroku glanced at her profile. "You _can_ trust me, you know."

"I don't know you well enough to trust you," Sango bluntly replied.

"Well, this is the perfect opportunity for you to get to know me. Ask me anything you like," he invited. "I promise to tell you the truth."

Sango mulled that over for a few minutes. "All right. I do have a question," she admitted.

"Only one?" he teased. "I suppose it's a start… let's hear it."

"The other day, you said you were 'officially retired'. What did you mean?"

"Ah. I went through a major career change a few years back," Miroku said lightly.

His vague answer only solidified her suspicions. "Were you a…"

Miroku smiled at her when she couldn't finish the thought. "A thief? Yes. I wasn't nearly as famous as the Kissing Bandit, but I was in the same line of work."

"You were an art thief?"

"Well, no… a jewel thief, actually," he revealed.

Sango had little difficulty imagining Miroku in that role and smiled in spite of herself. "So, what happened? Were you caught?"

"Never!" Miroku scoffed. "I was _much_ too clever for that, I can assure you. I simply received a better offer."

"From whom?"

"The powers that be," he shrugged. "They offered me the chance to start over with a clean slate, and being wise beyond my years, I snatched at the opportunity."

"The authorities were willing to just _overlook_ your criminal record?" Sango asked, skepticism coloring her tone.

"Mostly," Miroku confirmed, reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulling out a business card. "There were extenuating circumstances that gave me a little leverage for negotiation, so I was able to cheat the system. See for yourself." The card predictably read, _'Kazaana Securities'_ and_ 'Miroku Murasaki, President,' _but in small print on the next line were the words,_ 'registered reiki-user'. _

Sango's eyes widened. "You have spiritual powers—like youkai?"

"Hmm. _Unlike_ youkai, actually," Miroku corrected. "A person of my abilities is rare, so the authorities were willing to make certain exceptions in order to secure my cooperation."

"I've heard of reiki-users, but… what can you do, exactly?" Sango asked, intrigued.

"Seals and sutras, barriers and banishings… those kinds of things," he casually rattled off. "I have the ability to sense _youki_, read it, even purify it out of existence if need be."

"Is that why you were such a successful thief?"

"In part," he allowed.

Sango puzzled for a bit, then finally asked, "Why did you change sides?"

Frowning slightly, Miroku said, "I thought I already explained that."

"No, I mean…" she paused, gathering her thoughts. "Don't most successful jewel thieves retire to tropical islands to live in luxury for the rest of their lives?"

"Ah," Miroku nodded. "As much as I enjoyed picking locks and pockets, success depends heavily on never being noticed—by anyone. As exciting as a life of crime might sound, it's shockingly lonely."

"Oh. I'd never thought of it that way," murmured Sango soberly as the car pulled up in front of the Kakera Center for the Arts.

As she slipped the seat belt from her shoulder, Miroku leaned over. "Your plan has a certain charm, though. For instance, if _you_ were to join me on that tropical island—just to stave off the oppressive loneliness, of course—I would be willing to rearrange my schedule."

Sango slowly shook her head, fighting the smile that colored her tone as she remarked, "You are completely incorrigible."

Miroku lingered, eyes following the alluring sway of Sango's hips until she disappeared through the gallery's doors. "I think she's warming up to me," he decided aloud.

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #27, Cheat. 733 words.


	20. The Glimpse

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one who's left holding the coffee. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**Two days later…**_

**Chapter 20  
****The Glimpse**

"Ayame? Please tell me she's in the building," Miroku spoke into his cell phone, voice tight. "Good. Where?" After a long pause, during which he strode purposefully along the corridor towards the new wing, she fed him the information he needed. Doing an about face, Miroku picked up his pace.

Pausing in the entryway to the first floor coffee shop, he spotted Sango chatting with Hitomi near the pick-up counter while they waited for their orders. To Miroku's way of thinking, the man was smiling too much, talking too easily, and standing too close to the lovely Miss Sakamoto. His eyes glinted as he hurried over, calling out, "Sango, darling… _there_ you are! Don't tell me you forgot our lunch date?" She turned at the sound of her name, eyes widening until she looked like a deer in the headlights. Smirking at her dilemma, he brushed a kiss against her cheek, murmuring, "Play along, Miss Sakamoto."

"W-was that today?" she stammered, glancing with embarrassment at Hitomi. "I'm sorry, Kagewaki. It must have… slipped my mind…"

Miroku beamed at the assistant director and tucked his hand under Sango's elbow. "If you'll excuse us? I really _must_ steal her away," he said without a hint of apology, then whisked her out of the coffee shop.

Sango waited until they were safe inside an elevator before rounding on him. "I thought you weren't supposed to be seen! What are you _doing_ here?"

"I'm just your average art-appreciating citizen with a free lunch hour, and I need you to verify something for me."

Before he could explain further, her tone sharpened dangerously. "And how _dare_ you insinuate that I could forget an appointment! What must Kagewaki think?"

Chuckling, Miroku said, "I do apologize for casting aspersions on your organizational capabilities, but from what I can tell, the dashing Mr. Assistant Director already worships the ground you walk on. Your reputation is intact… unless, of course, I was interrupting a date?"

Sango blinked. "Don't be silly; I'm acting as his assistant. We were just discussing the gala."

"He was standing awfully close to you," Miroku opined casually. "He might have ungentlemanly intentions."

Shaking her head in disbelief, Sango replied, "_You're_ the only one with questionable intentions here, Mr. Murasaki. Don't tell me you're jealous."

Quick as a wink, Miroku was nose to nose with her, his violet eyes searching hers. "What if I said, 'yes'?" he asked. "Do I have any reason to be?"

"No," she whispered, too taken aback to reply with anything but the truth.

His smile was gentle. "Good enough," he whispered back. Straightening as the elevator arrived, he changed the subject entirely. "Have you seen Mr. Taisho's statue yet?"

"Yes, Kagewaki gave me the full tour when I arrived a few weeks ago."

"All right… do me a favor? When we go into the room where it's on display, can you look around—_discreetly_—and count how many people are in there with us?" She nodded, and he escorted her into the large hall where _Sakimitama: Soul of Love_ held pride of place.

They slowly circled the room, pausing before each display and feigning interest while Sango made her tally. "Fourteen," she mouthed once she was sure.

He nodded, then pulled her off to one side. With a tilt of his head, Miroku indicated a spot on the opposite side of the room and quietly asked, "Can you see anything unusual next to the window across the way?"

"No," she admitted.

"I thought as much," he mused aloud.

"Can _you_ see something?" she whispered, pulling back to look up at him. "Or… someone?"

Excitement made his eyes sparkle. "Why, yes, my dear Sango, I can."

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #18, Exposed. 614 words.


	21. The Gala

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one who hates formalwear. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**The night of the gala…**_

**Chapter 21  
****The Gala**

Inuyasha impatiently tugged at the collar of his tuxedo shirt. "Have I ever mentioned how much I hate formalwear?" he asked sourly.

"Yes, on numerous occasions," replied his fiancé as she patiently re-straightened his tie.

"You wear a suit all day long," Sango pointed out. "How is this any different?"

"I'm off the clock," grumbled Inuyasha, "and bow ties are _stupid_."

"The invitations didn't specify 'black tie', you know," Sango ventured.

"Yeah, well, remind me not to leave this stuff up to Sesshoumaru in the future," the hanyou groused, scanning the politely humming crowd that filled the Kakera Center's foyer.

"You look very nice," Kagome soothed, then steered the conversation away from what usually turned into a 'my bastard of a half-brother' rant. "So, how did you and Mr. Murasaki meet, Sango?"

Sango glanced uncomfortably at the man, who raised his brows as if he, too, was curious about the answer. "Well, I was at work… and he was there, too…" she said vaguely.

"Ooooh! An office romance!" Kagome gleefully extrapolated. "How exciting!"

"Oh, we're _not_ going out," Sango quickly corrected. "He's… well, he's…"

"Miroku here is helping out with the investigation, Kagome," Inuyasha said, taking pity on the furiously blushing Sango. "He's that guy I was telling you about… the one who 'saw' the Bandit a few days ago."

"Yes, Mr. Murasaki is just _pretending_ to be my date because tonight's event is by invitation only," Sango added quickly.

Unperturbed, Miroku rested his hand on Sango's shoulder. "The lady doth protest too much," he gently teased. He winked at Kagome, saying, "Mr. Taisho thought I should be here this evening, so Miss Sakamoto was prevailed upon to get me through the doors."

Sango ducked out from under his touch, treating her 'date' to a glare. "There's no need to drape yourself all over me."

"Nonsense," Miroku smiled, reaching for her hand. "You never know who might be watching."

Inuyasha's golden eyes restlessly roved over the crowd. "Keisatsu thinks it'll be tonight."

Miroku nodded easily. "I doubt your thief will be able to resist this opportunity—the front doors are wide open, there are distractions aplenty, the press is on the premises, and there are many lovely ladies to choose from. I suggest you keep Miss Higurashi close if you don't want her to become his next victim."

Sliding an arm possessively around the dark-haired woman's waist, Inuyasha confidently declared, "There's no way that bastard is getting anywhere near Kagome."

Kagome gave the hanyou a loving look before picking up the thread of conversation. "Is that why you're here then, Mr. Murasaki? You saw him, so you can identify him?"

Inuyasha snorted. "He didn't actually _see_ the guy. He just… how did you put it?" he demanded, turning to Miroku, who heaved a longsuffering sigh.

"I was able to detect his presence—barely. The thief is definitely youkai."

"It might not seem like much, but that's more than anyone else has managed before," Sango remarked, quietly defending Miroku's accomplishment.

"I just wish Keisatsu had let me help keep watch. It's driving me crazy, leaving it to that damned wolf; he's just going to botch things up again—I can feel it," the hanyou grumbled, again tugging at his collar.

"Well… do you want a tour of the new wing?" Sango offered.

"If Kagome wants to, sure," Inuyasha replied. "It'll kill time."

Miroku chuckled, saying, "I take it you're not an art aficionado?"

"Nah. This is Sesshoumaru's thing; not mine."

Kagome craned her neck, peering over the heads of the invited guests. "Where _is_ Sesshoumaru?"

Inuyasha waved his hand dismissively. "He's on the prowl after some new artist—said he wanted to meet the guy, maybe buy some paintings. The usual."

"Oh?" Sango asked, trying to sound casual. "Did he say which artist?"

"It was _Himawari_," volunteered Kagome. "Masashi Himawari."

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #8, Pinocchio. 639 words.


	22. The Flowers

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one who isn't finished. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**Shortly thereafter…**_

**Chapter 22  
****The Flowers**

Sesshoumaru stared in growing fascination at the painting before him. A profusion of paper whites rose up out of the crevasses in a rough-hewn chunk of black granite that had graced his lobby for nearly two weeks in the middle of January. Though not all of Himawari's florals were based on his _ikebana_, this one made four, and he was only halfway around the room. The firethorn and bittersweet were from last autumn; the quince blossoms and the forsythia were from this spring.

Finding his arrangements had been 'taken' without his knowledge had been initially upsetting. The recent thefts were keeping his more protective instincts at the fore, and his possessive streak demanded that these belonged to him. Tipping his head to one side, Sesshoumaru admired the artist's restraint in rendering the winter bouquet. The style suited both the subject matter… and his tastes. Slowly, he admitted to himself that he was pleased—flattered even.

As he moved on to the next watercolor, a young woman in an apricot kimono appeared at his side. "Good evening, Mr. Taisho," Rin murmured in measured tones, though once he'd glanced her way, a smile bloomed on her face. "You came back," she added with pleasure.

"Rin," he acknowledged, inclining his head. "Is Masashi Himawari here this evening?"

"Yes, the artist is here," she replied, her lips quirking in bemusement.

"Do you know when this was painted?" he asked, gesturing towards the crimson chrysanthemums.

"Last autumn," she replied. "November, I think."

He nodded briskly, cast about briefly, then crossed to a painting featuring a speckled lily. "And this one? Was it done this part February?"

Rin's brows drew together thoughtfully, but finally, she nodded. "That's right," she said softly.

Sesshoumaru's eyes flashed with intensity as he moved to yet another piece. "Tell me, Rin," he invited once she'd caught up, "How is it that I _know_ these flowers?"

"There's a perfectly logical explanation, Mr. Taisho. In fact, I'd be happy to…" she began, trailing off when he darted towards the opposite wall.

"This is one of mine as well," he mused aloud.

Catching his words, Rin's happiness faltered. "Excuse me?"

"I _remember_ this peony—the bloom was so heavy, I had to use wire to support the stem. It only lasted two days, yet here it is, masterfully preserved," Sesshoumaru recalled, speaking mostly to himself.

"_Your_ arrangement?"

He paused before another painting, this one of hydrangeas, and Rin peered worriedly up into his face. _Am I in trouble? Is Sango in trouble? What should I __do__? _Mr. Taisho's eyes were alive with interest and curiosity, but as far as she could tell, there was no anger in his gaze. "I had no idea these arrangements were yours," she offered apologetically.

Sesshoumaru's golden eyes pinned her to the spot. "Are you his daughter?"

For a moment, Rin was taken aback, but then she laughed softly. "No, sir."

He turned to face her, his gaze sharpening. "An assistant of some kind?"

"You must like guessing games," she smiled. "I'd be more than happy to tell you who…" Before Rin could finish her sentence, the lights winked out.

A growl vibrated through the small space that remained between them, and she gasped in wonder at the strange sensation it caused within her body. Blindly reaching for him, her hand came to rest upon his chest. Immediately, the rumbling stilled, and large hands closed around her slim shoulders.

"I am not finished with you, Rin," Sesshoumaru said with quiet authority, "but I must go. Stay here until the lights return."

His hands lifted, the air stirred, and she knew he'd gone. All around her, she could hear voices—screams, shouts, reassurances. Rin released a shaky breath and tried to decide what to do, but suddenly she knew she wasn't alone. Blinking futilely against the blackness, she drew breath to call for help.

"One more thing," Sesshoumaru calmly demanded next to her ear.

Stretching out her hand, she managed to catch his sleeve. "Yes, Mr. Taisho?" she replied, amazed by the steadiness of her voice.

"These paintings are _mine_," he announced. "Let Mr. Himawari know that I wish to discuss the transaction at his earliest convenience."

"Oh, my," she breathed. "That's very generous."

"You will convey this?" he pressed.

"Consider it as good as done."

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #26, Misunderstanding. 716 words.


	23. The Apology

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one who's dismayed. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**The next day…**_

**Chapter 23  
****The Apology**

Assistant Director Kagewaki Hitomi looked positively wretched when he faced Sesshoumaru Taisho across his desk the following day. "Words cannot _begin_ to express depths of our mortification. On behalf of the entire staff of the Kakera Center for the Arts, I extend heartfelt condolences over your loss. _Sakimitama: Soul of Love_ was a rare beauty—the crowning joy of our collection. To _think_ that she would be stolen away after you had placed her in _our_ care…" Drawing a shaky breath, he clenched his fists in an effort to contain his emotions. "Oh, sir… can you ever forgive us?"

Sesshoumaru drummed his fingers on his knee, patiently waiting out the storm. The director of the Watashi had been similarly hysterical after the _Nigimitama_ had slipped through their fingers, so he took it in stride. "Mr. Hitomi, you have nothing to apologize for. I agreed to leave _Sakimitama_ here because the police wanted to draw out the thief. In _that_ aspect, at least, they were successful."

"You will not… hold it against us?" the man ventured timidly.

"I bear the Kakera no grudge; my affiliation with your gallery remains unchanged."

"Mr. Taisho, you are very generous," Hitomi declared, slumping back into his chair with considerable relief.

The youkai's lips quirked slightly, and he said, "You are the second person to say as much in as many days. Which reminds me… I need to speak with one of the artists from last night's show."

Hitomi clapped his hands, gleefully rubbing them together as his mood shifted to excitement. "Of _course_! Miss Sakamoto compiled the contact list herself," he beamed, reaching for a fat binder. "Now, whose work caught your eye?"

"I am interested in Masashi Himawari," Sesshoumaru calmly relayed.

"Aha! I can understand that! Himawari's watercolors are breathtaking. We did a small showing of scrolls last summer—very fine work."

"A local artist then?"

"Oh, indeed! Himawari started out as a student in the area; now she teaches at the local art school. We were actually the first gallery to show her work," he boasted.

Sesshoumaru's brows drew together. "_She_?"

"What? Oh… yes. Masashi Himawari is a woman." Pausing thoughtfully, he added, "You've _met_ her—carried her down a ladder just the other day."

"Rin?" he asked incredulously.

"Just so! Rin Himawari. Masashi Himawari is her professional name," Hitomi explained distractedly as he jotted down her particulars.

Sesshoumaru sat in a daze, trying to work out the moment when his assumptions got the better of him. She'd been right in front of him the whole time, but he was so busy seeking 'Masashi'… that he had overlooked 'Rin'. _For the first time in centuries, I feel… foolish._

"Here you are," Hitomi smiled, passing along the information. "May she be your silver lining."

Arching a brow, Sesshoumaru asked, "In what way?"

"One beautiful lady was taken from you last night at the Kakera, but perhaps in some small way, finding Miss Himawari will make up for your loss."

* * *

**End Notes:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #11, Self Deceit. 495 words.

_Every cloud has a silver lining._ – A famous proverb. The 'silver lining' represents the prospect of better days or the promise of happier times. It is hope in the face of hardship or difficulty… the proverbial 'bright side'. According to _Brewer's Dictionary_, the allusion is to John Milton's _Comus _(written in 1634), where the lady lost in the wood resolves to hope, and sees a "sable cloud turn forth its silver lining to the night."


	24. The Assumption

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one who's learned the danger of assumptions. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**That evening…**_

**Chapter 24  
****The Assumption**

"It's _our_ turn," Inuyasha proclaimed, obviously relishing the thought. "Let's show that idiot wolf how to catch a thief."

Miroku sat back in his chair, bemused. "If we're going to do that, we need a plan," he pointed out, glancing towards Sesshoumaru.

"There isn't one?" Sango asked, looking around the table in surprise.

"Not as such," Miroku calmly replied. "There _was_ always the chance that the police would succeed, and Mr. Taisho doesn't believe in wasting effort."

"The early precautions we took have paid off," Ayame was quick to add, flashing a smile at Sango. "Because we still have _Kushimitama_, we have the advantage; we just need to decide what to do with it."

"Before that, I want to go over what we know," Sesshoumaru smoothly interjected.

Inuyasha's frown betrayed his impatience, but Miroku quickly nodded. "That's more than reasonable. Ayame? Make a list?" The redhead, whose fingers were already hovering over the keyboard of her laptop, tossed him a saucy wink. Deferring to Sesshoumaru, Miroku asked, "Where do you want to start?"

Long, claw-tipped fingers slowly drummed on the tabletop, but after a moment, Sesshoumaru replied, "Assumptions. I'd like to be sure we aren't making any assumptions that will leave us vulnerable."

"Ah! Excellent point," Miroku smiled. "Assumptions can be dangerous. Well?"

"Who says _we're_ making assumptions," grumbled Inuyasha. "We aren't the ones who were outsmarted."

"Fine, let's turn it around to make the exercise more palatable," Miroku replied diplomatically. "What assumptions is _Keisatsu_ making?"

"First off, we're all assuming that the culprit is the Kissing Bandit—international art thief extraordinaire," the redheaded she-wolf supplied.

"Any reason to suspect otherwise?" Inuyasha asked incredulously.

"Nope," Ayame cheerfully returned. "I'm just starting with the basics."

"He doesn't specialize, really," Miroku remarked. "Paintings, statues, weapons, jewelry, manuscripts—over the years, he's pursued a little bit of everything. It's safe to assume this _is_ the Bandit."

"He always finishes a set before choosing a new target," Sesshoumaru provided.

"That's why we can assume that he's going to come after _Kushimitama_," Inuyasha nodded.

"There's that whole 'kissing' thing," Sango offered, trying not to look as embarrassed as she felt.

"And he's _indescribably_ handsome," Ayame grinned. "None of the women he kisses can clearly remember what he looks like, just that he kissed them."

Inuyasha folded his arms across his chest. "_Nobody's_ seen him. He leaves no footprints, no fingerprints, no scent… it's as if he's invisible."

"I think it's safe to assume we're dealing with a youkai," Miroku stated.

"Yeah, yeah… that whole 'aura' thing you were talking about. Hey! Speaking of assuming—what about hanyou?" he asked, curious.

Momentarily taken aback, their resident reiki-user looked thoughtful. "I suppose the aura I saw _could_ have belonged to a hanyou, but most hanyou don't have that kind of power." Noticing Inuyasha's narrowed eyes, Miroku quickly added, "Present company excluded, of course. Your youki is quite impressive—really." His deadpan delivery—and Inuyasha's immediate mollification—sent Sango into a fit of giggles.

Jumping in, Ayame said, "He's able to elude every security system he's encountered."

"_Or_ he chooses targets that he knows he can access; don't forget, most of the thefts were from private collections. Their security systems are often much easier to disrupt," Miroku opined.

Silence stretched for several moments, and Sango was the one to hesitantly break it. "We're assuming that he works alone, aren't we? What if there was a… a team or something?"

Ayame nodded as her fingers flew. "That's good. You're right, Sango; we've always assumed he works alone."

"Could he have connections within the art community?" ventured Inuyasha.

"Maybe," Miroku replied. "Some of the pieces he's chosen in the past aren't particularly well-known, so at the very least, he's a capable researcher."

There was another lull, and gradually, each of them turned to Sesshoumaru, who had remained silent for most of the session. He gazed pensively into the middle distance until his brother reached across and slapped his arm. "What's eating you?"

"Hnn," murmured Sesshoumaru distractedly. "There is another assumption we're all making."

When the youkai didn't immediately continue, Miroku cleared his throat. "What would that be, Mr. Taisho?"

"That the Kissing Bandit is male."

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #9, Tangled Web. 695 words.


	25. The Ploy

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the serious one. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**A few days later…**_

**Chapter 25  
****The Ploy**

Trepidation tightened the knots in her stomach, but Sango stood her ground. "I realize that you and Inuyasha are not exactly breaking any laws, but I'm not comfortable with your decision to edge out the police. This is _their_ investigation."

"They had their chance," Sesshoumaru said, dismissing her concerns with the lift of one shoulder.

Sango bit her lip in frustration. She knew she should be grateful to have wrangled a private audience with the president of a large corporation, but he wasn't listening to her—not really. Grateful for Ayame's advice on how to approach the youkai, she launched into the second phase of her argument. "What if the plan fails? What if the thief gets away with the last statue? He'll disappear for another year or two, and the authorities will have to start from scratch."

"They already believe this to be the case," the youkai reminded her. "This plot is ours; the risk is ours alone."

_What they don't know can't piss them off_, Sango mentally paraphrased. Bravely meeting Sesshoumaru's golden eyes, she dared to say, "The risk is yours, but the prey is not." A slim brow arched, and Sango swallowed hard before continuing. "I understand that he's taken something of yours, but you aren't the only victim; many people have lost precious things to the Kissing Bandit. You're acting in your own interests, but Keisatsu is acting in everyone's interests. He has more than a decade invested in these cases."

"Are you asking for his sake, then?" Sesshoumaru challenged.

"Not exactly, sir," Sango replied carefully, trying to think of the best way to phrase her response. "I think… I think you'd be foolish not to put him to use."

The youkai's head canted to one side as he considered her face. "Hnn. Continue, Miss Sakamoto."

"It's to your advantage for the Kissing Bandit to assume that the one responsible for The _Soul of Wisdom_'s disappearance was Inspector Keisatsu. When it reappears, the thief is going to suspect a trap, but if it looks like the police did it, then it's just the same old trap." Sango drew a deep breath, then plunged ahead. "There's a big difference this time, though. You have a reiki-user on the team—someone who can actually spot the thief. If Mr. Murasaki's abilities are as rare as everyone makes them out to be, then the thief probably isn't expecting us to have this kind of 'secret weapon'. By letting Inspector Keisatsu lead the charge as usual, you'll provide cover for Mr. Murasaki to do his thing… right?"

Sesshoumaru took his time answering, but finally, he conceded, "Your observations are not without merit." Sango released the breath she had been holding. "However, Keisatsu will not be pleased to learn of the 'precautions' I took."

"Maybe Mr. Murasaki could smooth things over?" she suggested. "He seems to be good at that kind of thing, and if people like Mr. Murasaki are as rare as you say…"

When she paused, he nodded once, answering, "They are."

"Well, then! Inspector Keisatsu will probably be thrilled to have the benefit of his services," she finished optimistically.

"Hnn, perhaps," the youkai allowed.

"Even if the police are brought in, the next move is still yours because you're in control. I mean, if the Kissing Bandit stays true to form, all you'd have to do to end his crime spree is keep the _Kushimitama_ hidden away. He can't move on if his set is incomplete," she half-joked. Encouraged by the bemused expression on Sesshoumaru's face, she smiled and added, "If you think about it, the safest place to put the statue is in a building where there are no women to kiss."

His eyebrows shot up. "That observation is also worth considering," her murmured. In a louder voice, he said, "I will take your words into account, Miss Sakamoto."

Recognizing her dismissal, Sango nodded gratefully and stood, saying, "Thank you, sir." She was halfway to the door when her steps slowed to a stop, and she stood, momentarily confused by what she saw. A painting that had spent the better part of two weeks propped against the wall in her tiny living room now occupied a place of considerable honor on Mr. Taisho's wall.

"Miss Sakamoto?" Sesshoumaru inquired, and she glanced back at the youkai, who stood courteously.

"I'm sorry sir. I was just surprised to see a 'familiar face' in here," she said with an apologetic smile. As she resumed her course, she muttered, "Rin will be on cloud nine over this."

With a disorienting rush, Sesshoumaru was suddenly in front of her, barring her exit. "What did you say?" he demanded.

"Eh?" she managed, though it was barely more than a squeak.

"_Rin_." He loomed over her, eyes intent. "Those exquisite scrolls from last autumn—they were also by Masashi Himawari. You _know_ this woman, don't you?" Sango, nodded mutely. "Would you happen to know how she obtained such an intimate knowledge of my _ikebana_ arrangements?" he pressed. Unable to keep from trembling, Sango nodded again. Suddenly aware of the state she was in, Sesshoumaru stepped back and gentled his tone. "I am not angry, Miss Sakamoto. The question has been… plaguing me."

Glancing at the glowing depiction of golden forsythia that graced the wall, Sango kept it simple. "Rin loves flowers—adores them, actually. I took pictures of your arrangements to show her, and she found them very inspiring."

"Assistant Director Hitomi released this painting to me as a favor, but I have been unable to reach 'Masashi Himawari' to finalize a transaction. Several of the pieces at the show were inspired by my _ikebana_, and I wish to acquire them."

"Oh, well, that's understandable. Rin's in one of her artistic 'moods' right now—hardly leaves the loft to eat, let alone check her messages."

Sesshoumaru frowned. "How do you know this?"

Sango blinked. "Oh! I didn't say? Rin is my roommate—we share an apartment."

This fact took several moments to sink in, but Sesshoumaru eventually nodded. Looking down his nose at Sango, he said, "You may warn Miss Himawari that if she does not respond to my inquiries within a reasonable amount of time, I will be dropping by."

With a resigned smile, Sango replied, "I hope you like cinnamon toast."

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #3, Cover-up. 1,049 words.


	26. The Press Leak

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one who's no fool. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**Two days later…**_

**Chapter 26  
****The Press Leak**

With a commotion reminiscent of their first encounter, Chief Investigator Kouga Keisatsu blew through Sesshoumaru Taisho's office door and planted his fists on the desk with a resounding _thud_. Slowly, cool amber eyes lifted to meet fiery blue, and when several moments elapsed in tense silence, Sesshoumaru's brow arched inquiringly. Finally, the wolf blurted, "Damn it all, Taisho! Why are you jerking me around like this?" He reared back to stand tall, turning and lifting his chin in a display of offended dignity, but in a moment he was right back in the inuyoukai's face. "You stubborn idiot of a dog! I don't know whether to kill you or kiss you!"

"I wouldn't advise you to try either," Sesshoumaru replied archly.

Stepping back, Keisatsu's switching tail contradicted the calm he forced into his tone when he spoke again. "Ayame tells me that you still have a statue?"

"That is correct."

Growling low in his throat, Kouga began to pace. "You know, you and that cocky brother of yours can't take matters into your own hands. This _isn't_ the era for vigilante tactics anymore."

"Hnn," Sesshoumaru responded, looking decidedly bored.

Sinking into one of the chairs that faced the desk, Kouga ran a hand wearily over his face. "I should find a way to bring you up on charges of obstruction."

"You'd be wasting your time."

"Don't I know it," Keisatsu muttered sourly. "All right, what are you planning?"

"Planning?" the inuyoukai echoed, just to be difficult.

"Despite what your brother may think, I'm no fool," Kouga snapped. "You didn't have to tell me any of this, so I can only assume you need me for something."

"A trap," Sesshoumaru stated.

"Uh-huh," Kouga snorted sarcastically. "And what makes you think _your_ trap can succeed where every other trap has failed?"

"_Our_ trap," the inuyoukai smoothly corrected. "Together we can succeed."

"You're confident; I'll give you that," Keisatsu replied, unconvinced. "You still haven't answered my question."

"For starters, we know your Kissing Bandit is youkai," Sesshoumaru nonchalantly revealed.

Kouga nodded slowly. "Odds have always been in favor of that, though we've never had any evidence one way or the other. So…?"

"I'm sure you're familiar with reiki-users?" the inuyoukai asked quietly, watching Keisatsu's face intently.

"Yeah, sure; humans with spiritual powers. In the old days they were the monks and priestesses. Nowadays, the ones who aren't already 'owned' by some company or other charge too damned much for their services," he recited. Eyes widening in delayed understanding, his jaw dropped. "_Please_ tell me you're telling me you've found us an honest-to-goodness reiki-user."

Sesshoumaru took great pleasure in replying, "I am."

Kouga was on his feet and pacing again. "That changes things…" He trailed off, running over the possibilities in his mind, and when his gaze snapped back to Sesshoumaru, his excitement was palpable. "Taisho! This gives us a chance—a _good_ chance!"

Sesshoumaru nodded his agreement. "Everything will be in place in three days' time."

"That soon? Good. What do you need from me?"

"Additional manpower… and some judicious publicity."

* * *

_**The evening edition…**_

**Missing Statue Re-Surfaces!  
**_In a startling turn of events, a statement was released today revealing that __Kushimitama: Soul of Wisdom__, a priceless jade carving belonging to local businessman and art collector Sesshoumaru Taisho, has been found. The statue, which was presumed stolen by the infamous international art thief known as the Kissing Bandit, is said to be under heavy guard at Mr. Taisho's Dokkaso Gallery. __Kushimitama__ was the second of the set of four to go missing, and police sources point to a simple mix-up on the part of gallery personnel for the temporary misplacement. _

_When asked if he was concerned that the last remaining piece in his collection had been found, only to risk losing it again to the elusive Bandit, Mr. Taisho said, "I will take whatever steps are necessary to protect what is mine." _

_The Dokasso Gallery has been closed to the public for renovations, but it is scheduled to reopen late next month, with the __Soul of Wisdom__ holding pride of place…. _

Passing the newspaper back to Rin, Sango smiled faintly and sighed, "Here we go again."

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #30, Lie. 692 words.


	27. The Wee Hours

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one who looks good in a uniform. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**Five days later…**_

**Chapter 27  
****The Wee Hours**

"I miss my desk," Sango remarked glumly as she trudged down the hall, sturdy shoes squeaking slightly against the terrazzo. "I miss my headset… and my switchboard… and my nice, quiet, normal life."

"Look at the bright side," Miroku grinned. "Now, you get to spend all your nights with me."

Pointedly ignoring his attempted flirtation, Sango reasoned, "I'm a receptionist—a very _good_ receptionist." Swinging the beam of her flashlight into the dark corners of the next gallery, she continued, "Not a concierge. Not an event planner. And _certainly_ not a security guard!"

"Come now, Miss Sakamoto, you've shown admirable versatility," Miroku chuckled. And the Dokkaso is a fascinating place—part art gallery, part museum. Working here can be a culturally-enriching experience, given the right attitude!"

"It's two in the morning… and all the lights are turned off," she blandly pointed out.

Taking a more serious tone, he said, "Once you adjust to the night shift, it's not so bad; you'll get used to it."

Sango sighed and nodded. "How much longer do you think it will take?"

"Oh, I think our bandit will make his move sooner rather than later," Miroku reassured. "Come on; I want to show you something," he added, beckoning her to follow.

Two stories and several hallways later, Sango's curiosity got the better of her. "Where are we going?"

His voice dropped to an excited whisper as he pointed, "In here."

Sliding his flashlight into his utility belt, he crossed the dimly lit room on light feet, making a beeline for the brightly-lit glass display cases that housed the Dokkaso's small collection of minerals and gemstones. When he extracted what had to be a set of lock picks and crouched down in front of the first case, Sango frantically hissed, "What are you _doing_?"

"Opening this case," Miroku casually stated.

"You can't do that!"

"Actually…" he replied, flashing her a cocky smile as he popped the latch, "I can."

"The alarms…" she protested weakly.

"These sensors have been disabled," he cheerfully revealed.

"The cameras…"

"I tampered with the ones in here earlier; don't worry."

"Why would you do this?" Sango whispered, stricken.

"You miss being a receptionist; maybe I miss being a jewel thief," he teased, scanning the array of precious and semi-precious stones with a practiced eye. Glancing her way, his eyes widened at the horrified look on her face. "Miss Sakamoto, you don't actually think I'm going to steal these, do you? I'm just messing around—staving off boredom." When she didn't immediately answer, he added, "I'll put everything back."

"Oh," she breathed, chagrined.

Miroku sighed. "I'll tell you what… if I do anything suspicious, you can bludgeon me with your flashlight, all right? Now come here; it's time for show and tell."

"This really isn't a good idea," she muttered.

"Haven't you ever bent the rules? Even a little?" he inquired. As her chin lifted defensively, he said, "Hold out your hand." Dropping a faceted stone into her palm, he asked, "Do you know what that is?"

Sango cautiously held the pale gem between thumb and forefinger, angling it so it caught the light. "I think it's an aquamarine," she hazarded.

"Very good," Miroku beamed, whisking the stone away and choosing another. "How about this one?"

The hours until dawn passed quickly as they worked their way through the cases, talking in low voices and finding thing to laugh about. Miroku was scrupulously careful about replacing the items and re-locking the cases, and gradually, Sango's conscience prodded her into speaking up. "I'm sorry for how I acted earlier."

"Hmm?"

"I _did_ think you were going to steal something—just for a moment, but… I did," she admitted, shamefaced.

Miroku fiddled with a long strand of turquoise beads, letting the cool stones slip across his palm. When he met her eyes, his gaze was wistful. "I know. It's nothing; don't worry about it."

"I _do_ trust you," she countered with quiet resolve. "That's why—when you were picking the lock—I was so stunned. You said you'd given up that life, and I believed you. I still believe you."

Setting aside the beads, Miroku stepped closer. "There's only one thing in this gallery that I'd like to steal, Miss Sakamoto" he stated, mischief again creeping into his manner again.

Suspecting what he had in mind but not shying away, Sango inquired, "What might that be, Mr. Murasaki?"

Miroku kissed her, and for once, she kissed him back.

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #7, Make Believe/Fantasy. 744 words.


	28. The Trap

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one who succeeds. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**Three nights later… **_

**Chapter 28  
****The Trap**

"Why don't we ever see any of Inspector Keisatsu's men when we're on our rounds? They're here, aren't they?"

"Some are on the roof, some are around the building's perimeter, and some are guarding the entrances. All of them are in plain sight, since the Dokkaso is 'under heavy guard' at the moment. However, there are a few inside with us, hiding," Miroku explained as he and Sango made their rounds through the galleries. "For instance, Inuyasha Taisho has been here every night, and Sesshoumaru Taisho has been here as well, though he's more difficult to keep track of. He's good at concealing his youki."

Sango glanced over her shoulder, suddenly self-conscious. "Really? That statue must mean a lot to Mr. Taisho for him to watch over it personally."

"Are you so sure _she's_ the one he's trying to protect?" Miroku inquired.

Sango laughed softly. "_I'm_ not really in any danger, though. The little jade lady is the one the Bandit is after."

"Not true," he corrected. "You're the only woman in the building, so if the thief manages to snatch the one, he'll be coming after the other to claim his kiss."

"Putting him within your reach," she reiterated, adding, "_if_ he ever shows up."

"Sango…"

"I mean, it's been more than a week, and it feels like forever! How much longer can his reconnaissance _take_?"

"_Sango_…" he repeated more urgently.

"Speaking of which… will the Kissing Bandit be able to sense you, just like you'll be able to sense him? I mean… do _you_ have an aura or anything that will tip him off?"

"_Sango_!" Miroku interjected sharply. When her wide, brown eyes met his, he gentled his tone, saying, "He's here."

For several long, uncomprehending moments, she simply stared at him, and when she spoke, all she managed was a breathy, "Already?"

Miroku's eyes softened, and he nodded. "That's your cue," he prompted.

Sango's fingers trembled as she opened her cell phone and sent the message that would set their plan in motion. "I hope this works," she whispered.

Miroku took her hand in a firm grip, saying, "Let's get into place," as he hurried her along the hall.

The large, center gallery in the Dokasso was an open rotunda, three stories high and lined with balconies. When the pair rounded the final corner, Sango had to smother a scream as she blundered into a sturdy someone. Hands quickly closed around her shoulders, steadying her on her feet, and a familiar voice growled, "Miss Sakamoto, we meet again."

"Yes, sir," Sango gasped out, breathless from a combination of haste and anticipation.

Keisatsu's piercing eyes flicked from one human to the other. "Try to calm down," he ordered, his voice brusque, but not unkind. "Even if you manage to _look_ like night watchmen, your scent doesn't say 'unsuspecting'. Take a turn around the room—both of you. I'll be up there," he reminded them, pointing towards the second floor. Miroku nodded and pulled Sango away from the wolf, who gave the reiki-user a speculative look before leaping out of sight.

"He'll have to get past Inuyasha to reach _Kushimitama_," Sango whispered as they made their first circuit.

"I wouldn't be surprised if our hanyou friend is actually sitting on the display case, sword in hand," Miroku replied dryly.

"He brought Tetsusaiga?" Sango gasped.

"Yep. I was able to take a good look at it early in the evening; it's incredibly powerful."

Sango frowned in concern. "I've never seen him use Tetsusaiga myself, but he showed my father once. If he starts swinging that sword around, the Dokkaso really _will_ need to be closed for renovations."

Miroku slowed his steps and raised his hand. After a moment's concentration, he made a shushing motion and resumed walking. Sango fought to stay calm, but the hairs on the back of her neck prickled with the sensation of being watched.

Pressing close enough that his lips brushed her ear, he whispered, "I will probably need to step away in order to draw him out." She nodded, and Miroku veered to one side, ostensibly to check some doors. When Inuyasha suddenly dropped down in front of her and wrapped an arm around her waist, Sango stared into the hanyou's face in complete confusion. A fraction of a second later, they were airborne and her startled scream alerted Miroku far too late. "_That_ was not part of the plan," he muttered.

* * *

_This wasn't in the plan!_ Sango thought frantically. _What's Inuyasha __doing__? I know he's overly protective, but this is crazy!_

Noticing her perplexed expression, her captor smirked. "Did you know you're the _only_ representative of the fairer sex in the building? Either the police are getting smarter, or my luck has taken a turn for the worse."

Holding on for dear life, Sango squeezed her eyes shut against the vertigo of their ascent… and the icy realization that sent her stomach plummeting. "You're _not_ Inuyasha," she accused through gritted teeth.

After one final lunge, he came to a standstill, setting Sango down on a blessedly solid surface. She cast about and realized they were outside, on the roof. "I _know_ you're not him," she restated, pushing his hands away and stepping back several paces.

The interloper offered her a rather lopsided grin. "Nope," he conceded. Then, with an eye-crossing ripple, his features blurred and changed, and she was looking into Kouga Keisatsu's face. "How does this grab you? The wolf more your type?" With another trembling of the air between them, she was confronted by Miroku's handsome visage. "Or this?"

"You can… change," she murmured, fascinated in spite of herself.

Hefting a cloth-covered bundle more firmly under his arm, he casually strolled towards her. "Something tells me you know exactly what happens next."

Sango blinked slowly. For some reason, she was having difficulty focusing on anything but the tall, dark, and handsome stranger whose face was all wrong… and whose lips were so close. _No!_ Fighting against the numbness, she drew back her arm, and a resounding slap echoed in the night. Dimly in the background, she could hear Miroku's voice—chanting? Then a light blazed all around, and the Kissing Bandit's eyes—now a brilliant shade of green—widened in shock. He crumpled to the ground, and Sango gaped at Miroku, who slowly lowered his hands. "You came," she managed.

Nodding to the silver-haired figure kneeling beside the unconscious burglar, he said, "Sesshoumaru gave me a lift."

Just then, a scuffle was heard, and they all turned to see Inuyasha and Kouga fight to be the first through the doorway leading onto the roof. The pair traded daggers with their eyes, but Sesshoumaru cleared his throat significantly and Inuyasha backed down. Kouga straightened his clothing and strode towards his long-sought nemesis. Crouching opposite Sesshoumaru, Inspector Keisatsu swore under his breath and exchanged a look with the inuyoukai. "Figures it'd be a kitsune. Damned near impossible to catch once they have more than three tails on them, and this bastard's got five."

As more police crowded onto the roof, Miroku stepped towards a pale and shaken Sango. Enfolding her in his arms, he murmured, "I'm glad I made it in time."

She leaned gratefully into his embrace, mumbling, "He wouldn't have hurt me."

"No, but he was about to take something that belongs…"

Pulling back, she gazed up at him, her eyes flashed challengingly. "Are you about to make one of those 'very dangerous' assumptions, Mr. Murasaki?"

"Less of an assumption; more of a proposition," he replied, tightening his arms around her and humming softly.

"I hardly think this is the time or place to be propositioning women," she replied primly.

She could feel his chuckle vibrate through his chest, and then the kiss he pressed against her hair. "Less of a proposition; more of a proposal," he clarified.

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #6, Slander. 1,306 words.


	29. The Gauntlet

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one who wasn't exaggerating. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**A week later…**_

**Chapter 29  
****The Gauntlet**

From behind the raised partition surrounding her desk, Sango raised a finger to signal for Miroku to wait until she'd completed her connection. Once that was accomplished, she stood and greeted him with proper courtesy. "Good afternoon, Mr. Murasaki."

"Sango… _please_. Couldn't you find it in your heart to call me Miroku?" he pleaded, enjoying every moment of her token resistance to his charms. "After all we've been through, I think it's only natural to be on a first-name basis."

"We'll see," she demurred, then extended her hand for the visitor's pass clipped to his lapel. "So, you survived the 'what-are-your-intentions-towards-our-packmate' speech?"

"Barely," he grinned. "Treat her well, or I'll strangle you with your own entrails—rather daunting to your average suitor."

"You must be exaggerating," Sango laughed.

"Not by much. You, my dear, are more closely guarded than the Imperial Treasury. It's a good thing I'm a reiki-user, or I might not have survived."

Eyes widening in concern, she asked, "What did they _do_?"

"Were you aware that the eighth floor has an exercise room and dojo?"

"It's my job to know these things," she remarked dryly.

"Right. Well, the Misters Taisho decided to test my mettle… to make sure I was worthy… or something like that. Honestly, I think Sesshoumaru just wanted to prove that his youki was stronger than my reiki," he added thoughtfully.

"So, basically, you guys just spent the last three hours goofing off in the dojo—letting the youki and reiki fly?"

Miroku grinned. "Yeah. We're going to meet up for another round this weekend."

"That bodes well," she smiled. "Does that mean…?"

"Yes," he cheerfully affirmed. "They both give their blessing." Miroku leaned casually over the rim of her desk and crooked his finger just as he had on the first day he laid eyes on her.

Glancing cautiously around the lobby to make sure they were unobserved, Sango met him halfway. When she drew back from the gentle kiss, he was holding a small box on the palm of his hand. For once he didn't speak, and her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for his gift. Touching the ring inside with awe, she breathed a soft, "Ooooh." He strode around the desk and lifted the ring from its velvet cushion, then slipped it onto her finger. Finding it difficult to speak, she looked up into his face and smiled tremulously. "Thank you… Miroku."

Pleased to hear his name on her lips… and to see his ring on her finger, Miroku smiled broadly. "That's more like it," he declared warmly, and kissed her again.

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #23, Exaggeration. 432 words.


	30. The End

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this serial caper… especially for the one who's expanding his appreciation for the arts. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to mine beta, Fenikkusuken.

* * *

_**Several days later…**_

**Chapter 30  
****The End**

Sesshoumaru leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled before his lips as he gazed at the four statues arranged in an arc before him. The Four Souls had been returned, and he was pleased.

"Are you planning to put them back one of these days, or should we consider your desk a permanent display?" Inuyasha inquired.

"I think I'll keep them together for a while," Sesshoumaru replied. "We'll move them to the Watashi this weekend."

Inuyasha gave a 'whatever' shrug and changed the subject. "I tried to schedule a meeting with some investors for next Thursday, but Jaken said you're busy. Something about… a painting class?"

"Hnn," he responded, shifting his gaze from _Aramitama_ to _Sakimitama_. "I thought it might expand my appreciation for the arts."

"Uh-huh," replied his younger brother skeptically. "You _sure_ your sudden interest in painting doesn't have something to do with the one who's _teaching_ this art class?"

Sesshoumaru face was placid. "Isn't it customary to go to an artist one admires for instruction?"

"Yeah, yeah," the hanyou relented, wondering if his brother had _realized_ yet that he was completely besotted. He was just dense enough that Inuyasha was willing to bet the big idiot would be the last to know. Either that, or Sesshoumaru was so twitterpated, he actually believed that he was keeping it a secret from everyone who knew him well enough to see the signs. _Billboards, more like._ Inuyasha mentally rolled his eyes as he glanced at his watch. "Well, Kagome's busy tonight. You want to grab some dinner?"

"That would be acceptable—provided it's not one of those ramen shops you frequent."

"What _haute cuisine_ are _you_ hungry for, Mr. Food Snob? There's this great new Thai place Kagome and I found, or there's always…"

"Toast," Sesshoumaru announced coolly.

Inuyasha's ears did a cockeyed dance. "Again?" he demanded in disbelief.

"Hnn."

"That's the third time this… aw, hell," he swore. "_Fine_. Let's drop by Sango's, but don't be surprised if you get her 'what-are-your-intentions-towards-my-roommate' speech." Sesshoumaru's blank look was too honest to be shammed, and Inuyasha gave him a pitying look. "Forget it. Hey! Weren't you going to bring her some of that fancy-schmancy cinnamon you were bragging about a couple days ago?"

Buttoning his suit coat, Sesshoumaru added, "Perhaps the florist as well?"

"That's the ticket. You're a _natural_," Inuyasha smirked.

Sesshoumaru frowned. "Rin _likes_ flowers," he pointed out reasonably.

Following his brother through the door, the hanyou snorted softly and muttered, "Yeah… even late bloomers like you."

_**The End**_

* * *

**End Note:** This story owes much of its structure to the Live Journal community 30(underscore)lies, where I have a claim on Miroku. Lie #2, Secret. 419 words.


End file.
